


Never Not Fantastic

by thestoryinsideme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actor Dean, All The Tropes, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Castiel Whump, Celebrity Dean Winchester, Coming Out, Did I Mention Angst?, Emotional Roller Coaster, Fluff, Lawyer Castiel, M/M, POV Castiel, Pining, Pining Castiel, Pining Dean, Romance, Romantic Drama, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, beachside setting, celebrity, this is a story about love and love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 76,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestoryinsideme/pseuds/thestoryinsideme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When television star Dean Winchester makes a stop at the Rogue Wave Cafe, owner Castiel Novak initially takes notice - and exception to - the celebrity's presence in the all-but-forgotten beachside town where the age of the average resident is sixty-five.</p>
<p>This is a story about love and love, about family, friends, and more than friends, about learning when to hold on and when to let go, and about maybe, finding some turtles along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm just a wandering on the face of this earth

“I’ll give you twenty dollars if you let me take his table.” Jo Harvelle claps her hands together in faux prayer. “I’m begging you.”

“Who? Sunglasses over there?” Castiel Novak cranes his neck to get a better look at the outside patio. “Make it ten and you have a deal.”

“What?”

“Okay, five. But that’s as low as I go.”

“Cas, what are you…?”

Castiel holds up both hands, feigns defeat. “Fine. You win. One dollar. You drive a damn hard bargain JoJo.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re the best.” She stretches to her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. “So, I think it’s him. Do you think it’s him?”

“Who?”

Jo punches his arm. “You know who. Dean Winchester.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Castiel says, but it’s a lie and Jo knows it. He doesn’t live under a rock, for crissakes. “He just looks like your typical over-privileged, under-enlightened assbutt.”

“Come on, Cas, you’ve seen the show, right?   _The Unnatural_?”

“No. No I have not,” he says, and that, at least, is not a lie. “Anyway, what would he be doing here? Sans entourage?"

Jo shrugs. “Who knows. If it’s not him, then it’s definitely an acceptable substitute.” Jo pulls the elastic band from her ponytail and lets her hair fall over her shoulders. “But I’m about to find out for sure, so how do I look?”

“Tempestuous.”

“Does that mean hot? That had better mean hot, Cas.” She glides a tube of gloss over her lips and slips it back into her pocket.

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means,” he tells her.

Without warning, Castiel is jerked forward by the force of a solid slap to his back. Gabriel. Castiel catches himself and sneers at his older brother. “Hey, bro,"  Gabriel says.  "You see who’s sitting at your table?”

“No. It’s impossible to recognize him with sunglasses,” Castiel deadpans. "That’s always an effective and clever disguise. Is it Clark Kent? Is it Superman? There’s no way to tell.”

“Ha ha. Very funny. But I bet he’s probably a big tipper.” Gabriel grins up at Castiel. Gabriel may be his older brother, but Castiel is definitely the bigger brother.

“Most of the One Percent are, Gabe. Doesn’t make up for everything else.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes and exhales loudly. “Jesus H. Christ, Cas, wouldya lighten up. Now go take his order and keep your anti-social disorder in check, if that’s at all possible.”

“No. I’m letting Jo have him.”

“Cas, there’s an opportunity here.”

“I’m not interested in him Gabriel. And he’s probably straight.” Shit.  As soon as the words are out of his mouth he realizes that that is not at all what Gabriel is talking about, and he feels the heat of embarassment move up his neck and settle on his ears.

Gabriel side-eyes him, then huffs. “Yeah, well, that’s not what I mean, Casanova. I’m talking about for the Café.  Just turn on some of that old Castiel charm, you know, sell the place a little. Get him to come back. Maybe bring some friends, a younger crowd. Business ain’t exactly booming here lately, Bucko. We could use some free press, if you know what I mean.”

“We get by just fine. We have our regulars.”

“The average age here in Rocket Beach is sixty-five Cas. Our regulars are dropping like flies.”

“Don’t be so morbid.”

Gabriel grabs a pad and pencil from the counter and offers it to Castiel.  “If we can start getting folks from some of the nearby communities coming our way, it could put us in the black.”

“We _are_ in the black,” Castiel argues.

“Because we live like paupers. I mean the black black.”

Castiel sighs. “Jo can do it. She’s more persuasive anyway.”

"That is not true and you know it,"  Gabriel disagrees.  "Everyone knows that when it comes to persuasion, you, my friend, are the man."

Castiel shakes his head.  "I am sure she is more his type."

“Fine.” Gabriel gives up with a groan, then turns to Jo. “Okay baby, you’re at bat. Are you ready?”

Jo shuffles her feet and swings her arms in broad circles. “Yes. I think I’m ready.”

“Good. And there’s an extra ten in it for you if you get him to say the thing.”  Gabriel leans over and grasps her shoulder with one hand.

“Okay.” She takes several loud, hard and quick breaths, as if preparing for a sprint or a fight.

Gabriel straightens and shakes the pencil at her. “But you can’t actually ask him to say it.”

“Challenge accepted.” Jo grabs the pad and pencil from Gabriel and trots over to the table. Castiel watches Jo dip her head and giggle, then squat down in front of him as he smiles down at her, the pad and pencil strategically left on the table so her hands are free. He sees her point to the menu, veering into the television star as she does, and although he had basically demanded that she take the table, he finds himself imagining that _he_ is the one kneeling in front of the handsome man, describing the menu that he and his brother painstakingly created when they took over the restaurant’s helm; that _he_ is the one laughing at what he presumes can only be not very funny and poorly executed jokes.

“Oh, she’s good,” Gabriel says proudly, and it snaps Castiel back to reality. “I can see the headlines now – ‘Hollywood's Dean Winchester is seen enjoying the house special at the Rogue Wave Café in Rocket Beach, Florida.’”

“We don’t have a house special, Gabe.”

“We’ll make one.”

Castiel snorts. He can’t begrudge his brother’s enthusiasm for their family business. If anything, he envies it. “So, what’s ‘the thing’?” he asks Gabriel.

Gabriel chuckles and nods his head toward Jo and the actor. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://thestoryinsideme.tumblr.com//) here!


	2. I wanted to be with you alone, and talk about the weather

He’s back.

Castiel is leaning against the inside counter, drinking his morning coffee and discussing the town’s plans for this year’s Fourth of July extravaganza with town mayor (and Café regular) Rufus Turner when he happens to see him.

No one expected him to return, but there he is.  Castiel figures it’s either Jo or the food that’s brought him back, and although he hopes it’s the latter he believes it’s probably the former.  He is alone, again. At Castiel’s table, again. Wearing sunglasses, again, only this time he’s also added some kind of cap.

He didn’t stay long yesterday. A borderline hysterical Jo reported that he acknowledged who he was, asked her to please not tell anyone he was there as he was just passing through and didn’t want any fuss. He left her a hundred dollar tip (of which she netted ninety-nine dollars after Castiel collected his one dollar share) and without saying “the thing”, whatever that is, took his order of two Kahuna Burgers to go.

Castiel sighs. It’s early still, and poor Jo is going to have a fit because she does not come in for another ninety minutes and will likely miss the Winchester’s encore appearance. It’s just him and Gabe until Jo’s shift begins at ten, and Gabe always gets to do the cooking. He considers calling Jo, telling her to come in early, but changes his mind. There’s no getting around the fact that he is going to have to wait on the actor, and it bothers the hell out of him even though he can’t seem to pinpoint why. He grabs the pad and pencil from the counter, excuses himself from Rufus, and gets on with it. He’ll do it, but he doesn’t have to like it.

Castiel jumps at the loud thud made by his brother’s hand on his back.  “Damn, Gabe, you’ve got to stop doing that,” he scolds.

“Yeah, Yeah, you’re a delicate flower, I know.”  Gabriel moves next to Castiel, leans toward him, and whispers.  “Are my eyes deceiving me or is that Mr. Hollywood back for seconds?”

“So it appears.” Castiel grunts, rolls his eyes, and frowns in order to make his annoyance clear.  “And Jo’s not here, so I have to handle him.”

“Time to step up, bro.” Gabriel stands behind Castiel and massages both of his shoulders.  “Whammy him with ye old charisma spell and between you and Jo, we may just get to keep him.”

“We don’t want him,” Castiel says.

“Maybe _you_ don’t want him.  But _he_ doesn’t have to know that. Flirt with the straight boy, it’s not like it will be the first time _that’s_ happened.”

Gabriel steps beside Castiel and laughs at the scowl on Castiel’s face.  “Do it for the family business, baby.  Do it for the people of Rocket Beach. Do it for the world, Castiel!” Gabriel waves his arm.

“The world?”

“Okay, I may have gotten a little carried away there.  But seriously, think of the publicity Cas. Think of what it could do not just for our business but for every business in town.  Think of what it could do for Rocket Beach.  With his help, we could finally get Rocket Beach back on the map as the groovy, far-out and happening place it was during the heyday of the space program.”

Castiel makes a face.

“If you’re feeling a little bloated and not up to it, I’ll do it.”  Gabriel reaches for the pad and pencil in Castiel’s hand, but Castiel pulls his hand away and holds it up out of Gabriel’s reach.

“I’ve got this,” Castiel says.

  ______________________________

 

Dean Winchester has helped himself to a menu and is studying it, but he looks up at Castiel when he approaches. “Do you need more time?” Castiel asks.

“I’m trying to decide between the cup of coffee and the half cup of coffee.” Dean points to the menu. “Does the half cup also include unlimited refills?”

Castiel catches himself before his eyes make the full “you must be a complete idiot” roll. “It’s a joke.” He exhales loudly between slightly parted lips and makes no effort to hide his irritation. “Because customers are always asking for half a cup of coffee. It’s meant to be facetious. If you’ll notice, they’re both the same price and yes, refills are free.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean says slowly. “I was making a joke too.”

Castiel snorts. “Oh. Funny,” he says with as much apathy as he can cram into three tiny syllables.

“What’s your name?” Dean asks.

“I can’t tell you,” Castiel says. “We have a policy of anonymity.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Really? The waitress yesterday told me her name. Jo I think it was? It was the first thing she said to me. ‘I’m Jo.  Short for Joanna.'  Clear as day. Think she said it two or three times.”

“Well thank you for bringing that to my attention. We take policy violations seriously and she will be dealt with accordingly.”

Apparently Dean does not appreciate Castiel’s humor. “No, wait. I didn’t mean to get her in any…”

“Hey Cas, I’m heading out now.” Rufus calls out and waves as he steps out onto the covered patio and heads towards the parking lot. “Tell Gabe to have the usual ready for me around four-ish today.”

Castiel smiles and nods his head toward him. “Will do. We’ll see you later Rufus,” he hollers back at him.

“So much for anonymity.” Dean mutters under his breath. Almost.

Castiel frowns. “I’m not the one who’s sitting in the shade of an empty restaurant with a hat and sunglasses on.”

“You know who I am.” It’s a statement rather than a question. Dean waves his hand between the two of them. “Is that what’s going on here?”

“I have no idea who you are.” Castiel’s upper lip twitches with the lie and he bites it. “And nothing…” he mimics Dean’s hand motion, “is going on here.” 

“Come on. You recognize me.” Dean insists.

“So you want the half cup of coffee then?”

“Even if you don’t, the waitress, Jo, she must’ve told you who I was.”

“Full cup, half cup, so many choices…”

“Did you recognize me yesterday?”

“Look, if you want me to know who you are, then you can tell me your name or perhaps remove your disguise.” Castiel says.

“A pair of sunglasses hardly qualifies as a disguise.”

“And a hat."

"Still.  Not a disguise.” Dean looks away from Castiel and shakes his head before he looks back at him and says “I’m Dean Winchester.”

Castiel knows that Dean is expecting some sort of acknowledgement, some kind of reaction to his revelation but Castiel refuses to give it and remains aloof. “Hello Dean Winchester. So. Do you want anything with the coffee?”

“What?”

“I asked if you want anything with the coffee. You do know how restaurants work, right? You tell me what you want to eat, then I go get it.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. But what’s the big hurry, Cas? As you pointed out already, the place is empty except for me, and your only other customer won’t be back until four.”

“I recommend the muffin of the day.  Blueberry. Great with the half cup of coffee.”

“Okay, Cas, that sounds good. I’ll have that.”

“Don’t you think you are being a little familiar calling me Cas, considering I don’t know you and you don’t know me.”

“I’m willing to be more formal,” Dean snaps back. “What’s Cas short for?”

“Sorry. Anonymity.”

“Then let me guess.”

Castiel scoffs. “You will never guess it.”

“I think I will.”

“You won’t.”

“Willing to bet?”

Castiel skews his lips. He knows he shouldn’t engage, but he sees an opportunity here.  He may be screwing up Gabriel's plan for free publicity, but perhaps he can hustle a few bucks for one of the local charities before he scares the celebrity away for good. “What kind of bet?”

“If I guess it, you have to sit down and talk to me. All civil-like.”

“Talk about what?” He looks hard at Dean, squints, but he can’t see Dean’s eyes through the sunglasses and he knows from experience that it is never a good idea to negotiate with a man whose eyes are hidden from you because the eyes are the give away. The eyes will reveal and betray and get you into a whole shit ton of trouble if you’re not careful.

“Anything,” Dean says.

“For how long?”

“Ten minutes”

“Two minutes.”

“Eight minutes.”

“Five minutes. And customers take precedence.”

“Deal. How many guesses do I get?” Dean asks.

“Doesn’t matter how many, you won’t get it.”

“Three,” Dean decides. “Let’s say three.”

“All right,” Castiel agrees. “And what do I get when you don’t guess it?”

“What do you want?”

“A donation to the local Meals on Wheels program.”

“How much?” 

Castiel aims high. “A thousand dollars.”

“Okay. You’re on.” Dean’s mouth curves up on one side and Castiel thinks he looks much too pleased with himself for a man about to lose a thousand dollars. Then again, a thousand dollars probably doesn’t mean much of anything to Dean Winchester.

Dean rubs his hands together, anxious to start. “Okay. My first guess is…Cassidy?”

“No,” Castiel says sharply. “Can I go get your order now?”

“Yeah, sure. I need to think about this for a few minutes before I guess again.”

Castiel dismisses him with a one-shoulder shrug before he heads to the kitchen for the muffin.

“How’s it going?” Gabriel asks Castiel while he slices the muffin in half, butters each piece and lays it on the grill. “You two seem to be hitting it off.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Castiel says. 

“I’ve got faith in you,” Gabriel says, one eyebrow arched. “So find out how long he is going to be here, because I also have a plan.”

“Nope.” Castiel shakes his head dramatically. "Your plans scare the crap out of me."

Gabriel slides a long spatula under both halves of the grilling muffin and plates them for Castiel. “You’re no fun baby brother.”

“So I’ve been told,” Castiel says over his shoulder as he walks away, plate in hand.

“Is it Casper?” Dean guesses as soon as Castiel reaches the table and serves him the grilled muffin.

Castiel shakes his head. “You’re not going to get it, so pull out your checkbook.  No one ever gets it. You've never met anyone else with this name, and I guarantee you have never even heard of …”

“Castiel?” Dean interrupts him, his voice low but emphatic.

Castiel has the words _sorry you lose_ queued up on his tongue and slams his mouth shut to stop them from coming out. He blinks several times, certain that he has not heard him correctly. “What? What did you say?”

“Castiel.” Dean repeats, then clarifies further. “As in Angel of Thursday.”

“How did you…?”

“Am I right? I’m right, aren’t I?” Dean cocks his head back and looks up at Castiel.

Castiel narrows his eyes, nods once. There is no way. There is absolutely no way.

“I win,” Dean says, his smirk more schoolboy playful than smug. “Just a lucky guess. Take a seat Castiel.” Dean gestures to the empty chair across the table.

“Hold on.” Castiel pulls his phone from his pocket and sets the timer. “Ok, five minutes starts now.” He taps the phone, then sits at the table.

“You’re actually timing this?” Dean kneads the back of his neck with his hand. “Jesus, you’re actually timing this?”

“So what do you want to talk about?” Castiel says.

"Look, you don't have to if you really don't want to."

"A bet is a bet." Castiel folds his hands together on the table in front of him. "You won.  So we talk.  You choose the topic."

“Uh, okay, right.  I thought maybe we could…” Dean looks uncomfortable.  He hesitates, then turns his attention to the plate in front of him. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Castiel rattles off a few.  “Poverty? Discrimination? Fair wages? Healthcare access?”

“Whoa, dude, I was thinking more along the lines of the weather, or, you know, things to do around here.” Dean stabs the muffin with his fork, breaks off a chunk and uses his fingers to put it in his mouth.

“Of course.“

“Mmmm,” Dean moans. “This muffin’s good.” Crumbs spill from his mouth as he chews. “I mean, it’s really really good.”

“Thank you,” Castiel offers some perfunctory gratitude, then checks the timer on his phone.

“So what do people do around here?” Dean asks.

“Well they don’t wear hats and sunglasses in the shade.”

Dean glances around the patio area as if he is assessing the risk in removing the glasses. His eyes land on the gray-haired couple who just arrived and seated themselves next to one another at the table in the corner.

“That’s Bill and Sally,” Castiel tells him. “They come here to make out.  They only have eyes for each other and I assure you, they will not recognize you. They don't even know that I'm here.”

“So you do know who I am.”

“Yes, of course. You told me who you are.”

Dean removes his ball cap and rubs the top of his head. “Right.” He pulls off his shades, and now that Castiel can see those critically acclaimed eyes, he really wishes he hadn’t.

“Look, man, I get it,” Dean says. “You don’t like me. You think I’m pretentious and you don’t want me here for whatever reason.”

Castiel knows he was being an ass, was actually _trying_ to be an ass, but he was not expecting the sincerity and pained tone of the words. Dean continues. “But what I don’t get is why. I mean, what is it about me that makes you dislike me so much that you can’t even stand to have a conversation with me? What do you think I’m going to do to you or your café or your town that deserves the icy brush-off? Why are you being such a…”

“Naps are big.” Castiel cuts him off, not wanting to hear whatever colorful, insulting, and all-too-accurate descriptive term Dean was about use.

“Huh?”

“You asked what people do around here. Naps. We nap. A lot.”

Dean chuckles. “Oh I get it. Because everyone’s kinda old.”

“And there’s shuffleboard over at the park, but I have to warn you, it gets very competitive.”

Dean laughs again, so Castiel goes on. “There’s a Bridge tournament on Tuesdays at the civic center, and the library hosts a quilting bee the first Friday of every month.”

“Wow, sounds exciting. What else?”

“None of that is true,” Castiel confesses. “Except for the naps. Naps really are big. But the people here, you can’t just stereotype them like that. They go to the beach, they surf, they swim. You know that this is a barrier island, so we’ve got the ocean on one side and the river on the other. There’s lots of boating, kayaking, fishing. As a community, though it’s pretty laid back. The average age here may be mid-sixties, but not in spirit, and that’s what counts, right?”

“You really do like it here,” Dean observes.

“I do. I grew up here. Left for several years, but I came back.”

“Why did you leave?”

“College. Law school. Then I worked for a few years up in Jacksonville.”

“You’re a lawyer?”

“Sort of. I haven’t practiced in over a year.”

“My little brother Sam is a lawyer. So what do _you_ do for fun around here?”

The alarm on Castiel’s phone goes off signaling the end of five minutes. Dean glares at the beeping phone while Castiel hits the screen and turns it off. Castiel inches forward on his chair, rubs his hands together and leans into the table. “I like the beach,” he says. “I walk it almost every night. I run. I swim. Sometimes I kayak or fish. I read a lot.” He shrugs. He has just told Dean Winchester more about himself than anyone has cared to know about him in a long time.

“Sounds kinda nice, Castiel.”

"Call me Cas."  Dean grins at him, eyes soft and gentle and crinkly around the edges, and Castiel can’t keep himself from smiling back. “And yes, it _is_ kinda nice.”

“Ahh, there it is,” Dean says, pointing to his own mouth, then Castiel’s. “I knew you had it in you.”

Castiel says nothing but finds himself staring at Dean’s lips as he speaks, then moistens them with the flick of his tongue.

“Hey! Bro!” Gabriel's voice is about two steps ahead of him as he barrels out of the kitchen door and onto the patio. “Can I talk to you a sec?”

“Sure.” Castiel picks up his phone and points to his brother. “I should go,” he says as he stands, but he doesn’t want to go and he’s not sure what to do with that. “Can I ask how long you’re in town?”

“Two more days.”

“All right,” Castiel says. “Tomorrow’s muffin of the day is chocolate chip.”

“Good to know,” Dean says, still grinning.

 ______________________________

 

“Hey, sorry to drag you away from pretty boy over there but this came for you.” Gabriel holds up the long, narrow envelope.

Wary, Castiel palms the letter as he glances at the return address. His stomach sinks when he recognizes it.

“Is it from him?”

“I think so,” Castiel says slowly. “It’s the firm’s stationery, but they have no reason to be sending me anything. It’s not from them.”

“When was the last time you, uh…” Gabriel doesn’t finish the sentence and Castiel understands that Gabriel is trying to spare him by not saying his name. But Castiel has moved on, he has healed, and avoiding the name just makes it seem like he hasn’t.

“It’s been at least a year since I’ve seen Michael, Gabe.”

Gabriel places a comforting hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes.

“Will you be okay here if I take a walk?” Castiel asks.

“Yes. Go, go.” Gabriel waves him away.

Castiel folds the envelope in half and slips it into his pocket as he exits the building through the back door and heads towards the beach. He’s not ready to open it, and he’s not sure he ever will open it. Maybe he’ll just drop it in the shredder in the café office. Or toss it in the river next time he goes to the mainland. Or mark it “return to sender” and shove it in the first mailbox he comes across. Whatever his choice, he doesn’t have to make it now, so he doesn’t.


	3. It's more than a feeling

When the phone rings at one in the morning, it’s never good. It rings three times before Castiel is awake enough to recognize that he should answer it, and another three times before he is able to drag himself out of bed and locate the land line phone in its cradle on the desk.

“Hello?” Castiel’s voice is rough with sleep as he glances at the time on the phone base.

“Uh, Castiel? It’s Bobby Singer. I’m sorry to wake you but…”

Castiel panics when he hears the voice of one of Rocket Beach Police Department’s finest. Phone calls at one in the morning are bad. Phone calls at one in the morning from the chief of police are worse.

“What’s wrong? Is it Gabe? The Café?”

“Aw, no, sorry Castiel, it’s nothing like that. Just that we’ve got this feller here, got himself arrested for multiple ordinance and state code violations. He says he knows you, that you’re a friend of his? This is his one phone call he requested, but he didn’t have your number so I went ahead…”

“Who is it? What’s his name?” Castiel’s first thought is that it is Michael. Michael has come looking for him, as he always said he would.

“He says his name is Dean Winchester.”

Dean Winchester. “Fu…” Castiel claps his hand over his mouth to smother the profanity spilling from it. 

Bobby continues. “So, uh, do you know him? Do you want to talk to him?”

“Where is he now?”

“In the holding cell. Trying to escape his handcuffs. Keeps saying he’s an expert lock pick and he’ll be back to hunting monsters in no time. If you ask me, the boy’s not right in the head. Liquored up or not, he ain’t making a lick of sense.”

“Don’t do anything yet.” Castiel pulls clothes from his drawer and starts to get dressed. “I’m coming down to the station, Bobby.”

 ______________________________

 

Turns out Dean Winchester has racked up a laundry list of misdemeanor charges. Disorderly conduct, disorderly intoxication, open container of alcohol, trespass, and resisting an officer without violence. It takes Castiel some time and effort to convince Bobby to just let Dean go with a warning.

“Come on, Bobby, you know that yelling 'you can suck my dick five-o' is more like insulting an officer than resisting one. You’re pushing the boundaries of probable cause with that one and the state attorney will never go for it. And from what you’re telling me, he was way too intoxicated to have formulated the requisite intent before he climbed up Dr. Madison’s private stairway. They do look just like the public beach access, it’s hard to tell the difference sober.”

Bobby shifts uncomfortably in his chair and looks up at Castiel, who is leaning casually and confidently against Bobby’s desk.

“Also, you and I are both aware that you can’t have disorderly conduct or intox without someone else around to be disturbed by it, so I’d say that those aren’t going to stick either. That leaves you with open container on the beach. Hardly seems worth all the paperwork and that long drive over to the county jail now, does it Bobby?”

“I don’t know, Castiel.” Bobby picks up his pen and starts tapping it on the desk.

“Do you know who he is?” Castiel asks.

Bobby shakes his head. “Nah. Should I?”

“No, no.” Castiel answers quickly.

“So this Dean Winchester. He’s a friend of yours?”

“You could say that.”

Bobby points his pen at Castiel. “Well, now, son, I _did_ say that, but I’ll ask you again and I need the truth from you. Is he a friend of yours? “

“Yes,” Castiel says, and somehow it feels true.

“Staying with you?”

“Does that matter?’

Bobby throws his pen down and leans back in his chair. “If I’m going to cut him loose I need to make sure we ain’t gonna have any more trouble from him. That you’re vouching for him and you’ll keep an eye on his drinking.”

“Then yes.” Castiel winces a little bit and he is sure he is caught. He has never been a good liar. He has at least five tells, according to Gabe, six if you count his inevitable confession.

Bobby scowls, but doesn’t push it. “I tell you what, he’s lucky it’s me on the clock tonight. I’ll release him to your custody because he’s your friend, not because of any of that lawyer mumbo jumbo horse shit you were just spoutin’ off.”

“No charges?”

“No charges.”

“Fair enough.” Castiel feels a little guilty about lying to the chief of police, but he’ll get over it. “Can I see him now?”

 ______________________________

 

“Hello, Dean.”

Castiel’s not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. He can’t help but feel sorry for him, slumped into himself on the bench in the corner of the holding cell, his wrists cuffed together in front of him. Hiccupping. Dean looks up when Castiel speaks and grins. “Hey Cas,” he says as if it is something he says all the time, every day. As if they have been down this road before and there are no surprises ahead.

“Uh, how are you?” Castiel says, just to say something, because it is pretty obvious just how Dean is and that is thoroughly, unabashedly, and quite happily drunk.

Dean stands and tries to spread his arms, forgetting they are pinned together. “Never not fantastic!” Dean says. “I am never not fantastic,” he manages to get out one more time before he loses his balance and falls back onto the bench.

Bobby snickers. “Well damn if that ain’t just about the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

Castiel looks over at Bobby and shrugs. He doesn’t disagree.

 ______________________________

 

Since Castiel walked to the police station, Bobby drives Dean and Castiel the two blocks back to Castiel’s bungalow, which is located smack dab in the middle of town and across the street from the beach. Castiel helps Dean out of the back of the patrol car and wraps Dean’s arm around his shoulder in an attempt to hold him up. He waves Bobby off and waits until the vehicle is out of sight before he talks to Dean.

“Where are you staying, Dean?”

Dean raises his arm and points toward the highway that runs parallel to the ocean.

“That’s not very helpful. Are you alone? Is someone in town with you?” Castiel remembers that Dean had ordered two burgers to go, and at the time he had concluded that it was very unlikely that he was traveling alone.

Dean nods, and Castiel realizes that he asked two different questions and he has no idea which one Dean is answering. “Is there someone I can call to get you? My car’s in the shop so I can’t drive you or I would. Do you have a friend here?”

Dean shakes his head and holy shit, Castiel did it again. He still has no useful information and Dean is getting pretty goddamn heavy.

“What the hell were you even doing at the beach by yourself anyway,” Castiel mumbles to himself as he squeezes his arm around Dean’s waist, tries to get a better hold on him so he doesn’t fall face first into the aloe bush by his feet.

“Looking for you.” The words come out slowly and slurred, but intelligible.

“Huh?” Castiel stops and looks at Dean. “You were looking for me?”

Dean doesn’t respond in any coherent manner. He closes his eyes and lets his head loll face first into Castiel’s chest.

“Fuck it. You’ll have to stay here tonight. Come with me now.”

Castiel tightens his grip on the barely conscious man and walks, pulls, then hauls him into his home and deposits him on the couch as gently as possible. He gets a blanket and pillow and drops it next to Dean, but when it becomes clear that the man is perfectly content to just lie there half on and half off of the furniture, Castiel places the pillow by the arm of the sofa and maneuvers Dean onto his side along the length of the makeshift bed. He pulls a lightweight cover over him, then softly pats Dean’s cheek. He’s not sure why he did that last thing, except maybe because he looks so vulnerable, so not-at-all like the guy in the magazines and on TV, that it made him think that he could.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean looks up at Cas and motions with his finger for him come closer.

Castiel hunkers down in front of him. Dean reeks of whiskey and soap, and Castiel likes both of those things so he doesn’t mind.

“I cheated,” Dean says with childlike contrition.

“You cheated? At what?”

“Your name. The girl told me your name.”

Of course. That’s the only way he would have known his name. No one has ever heard of his name before. “Ah, I see.”

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?"

“Do you like boys?”

The question is so basic, so clear and to the point that it is endearing, and it makes Castiel smile and drop his head. Still, the answer is not as simple as the question and he is not sure how or if he should respond. He defaults to his lawyer instinct and answers the question with a question. “Do you?”

Dean shakes his head. “No,” he says. “But I like you.”

Castiel wants to ask what he means by that, but Dean is gone, out like a light, and Castiel is left disappointed and relieved. They can talk about it tomorrow. Or they can pretend it never happened. One of the two. Castiel goes to bed knowing which one he wants but asking himself which one he can live with.


	4. How long am I gonna stand, with my head stuck under the sand?

Castiel wakes up happy. He knows this because as soon as the alarm on his phone goes off, despite suffering from a bona fide lack of sleep, his feet hit the floor and he is up and out of the bed without ever hitting the much-abused snooze button. Not even once.

He shuffles quietly into the living room to see if Dean Winchester really is sleeping on his couch, and yes, yes he is. He has rolled partially onto his stomach. His left arm hangs off the edge, palm pressed against the wood floor. His head is turned to the side, mouth open wide and producing a low-pitched, sporadic grumble that can only be described as a poor excuse for snoring.

Castiel has very little time to assess his options. It’s just after six in the morning on Wednesday and he is supposed to be at the Café in a few minutes. He can call Gabriel and tell him he’s not feeling well, but that would leave Gabriel in a terrible lurch since the early morning surfers are expecting fresh muffins and Castiel is the only one who makes them. He can wake Dean and tell him he has to leave, but that seems rude, since he can’t even offer him a ride, and Dean is not going to be feeling well when he regains consciousness. The only possible option, Castiel reasons, is to leave Dean here, go to the Café, and try to get off early.

On his way out of the door, Castiel writes a note for Dean telling him where he is and to help himself to his shower and toiletries. He leaves the note on the coffee table by the sofa, anchored by an over-sized bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water.

 ______________________________

 

He tries to think of something other than Dean, but apparently sometime between last night and this morning he has turned into a twelve-year-old girl and he can’t. His mind wanders while he stacks the remaining muffins in the glass display case by the register. He wants to go back home, wants to be there when the man on his couch awakens, and he considers telling Gabriel about last night but decides against it. Gabriel wants only to capitalize on Dean’s celebrity, and Castiel, it seems, wants something else completely.

“Hey baby bro, late night last night?” Gabriel’s open hand thumps Castiel’s back.

Castiel tenses, wonders if Chief Singer somehow came, spilled the beans, and left without Castiel ever seeing him. “No, no, I just, I’m not feeling a hundred percent.”

“Well maybe you should go home, get some sleep.” Gabriel says with brotherly concern. “We have that meeting with the investors tomorrow and you have to be on your game. You’re the mouthpiece, I’m the looker.”

Oh, right. That. Castiel had forgotten all about it, his brain flushing it away for his own protection.

“I know, I know,” Gabriel responds to Castiel’s body language. “It’s going to be a lot of work, but the juice is worth the squeeze, brother.”

Castiel furrows his brow as Gabriel heads back to the kitchen, waving his spatula in the air. “I guarantee that the juice will be worth the squeeze.”

“You’ve outdone yourself this time, young man.” Castiel is still watching Gabriel walk away when Rufus plants himself on a stool at the counter, muffin in one hand, coffee in the other. “I would eat these all day if I could. On second thought, not much going on down at city hall these days, so maybe I will.”

Castiel grins and pulls out another muffin for Rufus.

“Don’t you have somewhere else you should be right now, Cas?”

“What? No, no,” Castiel sputters. Is he really that obvious? “Why would you say that?”

“Aren’t you supposed to pick up your vehicle from Masters’ shop? I dropped mine off this morning for an oil change and Meg mentioned that you were coming in today. Whoa boy, that girl is sweet on you! I realize she’s not your usual flavor but, just saying, in case you ever wanted to give it a try. You never know.” Rufus winks and bites into his muffin.

“I like all flavors, Rufus.” Castiel picks up a wet towel and begins to wipe the counter. “But as far as Meg is concerned, I do know because we actually did try once.”

Rufus jerks his head back. He seems to be genuinely shocked that he doesn't already know this.  “What? No. When was this?”

“My first year at the University of Florida, so a little over twelve years ago.” Castiel continues to clean while he tells the story. “I was, what, eighteen years old?  She came up to Gainesville one weekend to visit some friends of hers and we met up. I was homesick and she was pretty, and extremely persistent, and, I don’t know, I thought I would try. I was pretty inexperienced at the time, and confused about things.  I thought it would make things easier not just for me, but for Gabe and Papa, if I could just fall in love with her and marry her. If I could just be ...” Castiel shakes his head at the memory. “But I didn’t. We only dated for a couple of months before it ended. It made me realize that it wasn’t just myself I was hurting by denying who I am.”

“Never any reason at all to deny what the Good Lord made of you,” Rufus preaches. “He knows what He’s doing.”

Castiel frowns. “Well some people would like to believe that my lack of preferences is not what He intended, that He’s offended by it all.”

“God don’t make mistakes.” Rufus shakes his head sharply. “The duck-billed platypus wasn’t a mistake and neither were you. Not a single one of God’s creations was a mistake. You’re a fine young man, Castiel. One of his better works if you’d ask me.”

“Thank you.” Castiel puts the towel down and pulls a muffin out of the back of the display case. He covers it in plastic wrap and packs it into a brown paper bag to bring to Dean as soon as he gets the chance. He hopes that Dean likes it.

 ______________________________

 

Castiel does manage to cut out of work early, since Jo and Rachel, the new server Gabriel recently hired, both were there, and the Café would be closing soon anyway. He and Gabriel had decided when they took over the business that they would open early and close early, but lately his brother had been grumbling that they should stay open later, that they should get a liquor license and offer a full bar rather than beer and wine only, that they should extend the patio and add some music. He avoided those conversations for as long as possible. Though he did not believe that bigger was better, he understood that financially, Gabriel’s plan made sense. And even though he cared very little about the money, he finally caved and decided he would support Gabriel’s dream, reasoning that one of them should get to be happy.

He hears the pounding water of the shower when he walks through the door and his whole body relaxes. Dean is still there, and that’s good. He places the bag on the table, then starts to clean up by collecting the blanket and pillow from the couch. He brings them back to his room and dumps them on the chair in the corner. He pulls the tattered cotton quilt up over his own unmade bed, grabs the pillows off of the floor where he must have kicked them during the night, and tosses them against the headboard. It’s too late to hide the fact that he is not the neatest person in the world, but he doesn’t want to look like a complete slob.

Dean emerges from the bathroom moving like a Greek god, a towel loosely held across his hips with one hand, rubbing the top of his head with the other. He jumps a little, startled, when he sees Castiel.

“I brought you a muffin,” Castiel says, then scolds himself silently for being so unclever.

“Wow, thanks. Saves me a trip. Chocolate chip today, right?”

Castiel nods. “How do you feel?”

“Not too horrible. But not great.”

“So not fantastic then?”

“Huh?” Dean’s brows furrow.

“Oh, nothing,” Castiel begins. “It’s just that last night, when you were in jail, you said you were ‘never not fantastic’. Double negative aside, should I assume that was nothing more than a drunken over-generalization?”

Dean’s lip curls up on one side. “You actually haven’t ever seen the show, have you?”

“Your television show? No, I haven’t. I’m sorry.”

Dean waves his hand. “Oh, don’t be sorry. Seriously, do not be sorry. That’s just something I say - I mean my character, Jake Remington, he says it on the show.”

“You mean it’s your catch-phrase?”

It looks as if Dean has been force-fed a lemon. He grabs a handful of his own hair before he responds. “Not mine,” he stresses. “But yeah. Jake’s.”

“Your character’s name is Jake Remington and that’s his catch-phrase?” Castiel tries not to laugh but he finds it to be a bit of a mismatch. “I thought it was a drama?”

“It is, mostly. But sometimes they go for the funny… “ Dean stops. “You really know nothing at all about it, do you.”

“I know it’s called _The Unnatural_ and it’s about two brothers who hunt monsters?”

“Basically. I mean, that’s the premise. It’s evolved over the last several years though. Used to be just the brothers, their car, and a new monster every week, but now we have some other regulars. Good guys and bad guys. Now we have some pretty intense myth arcs.”

“Is it good?”

Dean stares blankly at Castiel. “It’s been my bread and butter for nine years now. The show's been good to me. Very good to me.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Dean sighs. “I know. It’s, well, it’s not winning any Emmys.” Dean’s shoulders droop, and he shifts his weight to one side.

Castiel is afraid that he has embarrassed Dean or made him uncomfortable. “Awards mean nothing,” he says. “‘People always clap for the wrong thing.’”

“Salinger,” Dean says. Castiel is more impressed than surprised that Dean knows the quote but he never would have pegged Dean as a Salinger fan.

“ _Catcher in the Rye,"_ they both say at the same time.

“Yes,” Castiel says. “How do…?”

“I read,” Dean cuts in, but he’s not angry or defensive, just informing. “Maybe you should watch the show yourself and decide. ‘Good’ is pretty subjective. It’s all in the eyes of the beholder, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I will. In fact, I want to watch it right now. Immediately.” Castiel strides over to the coffee table, finds the remote and starts pressing buttons.

“We don’t have to do that.” Dean says, but he has moved next to Castiel and watches as Castiel clicks his way into Gabriel’s Netflix account.

“I would like to start with the first episode and just…watch. How many are there?”

“One hundred and ninety-five.”

“Fuck. Really?”

Dean laughs. “Fuck, really. It’s been a part of my life for going on ten years now. Crazy, huh?”

“Ok, well let’s start with one and see how far we get.”

Dean looks down at his towel-draped body and Castiel suddenly realizes how ridiculous and presumptive he’s been. Dean Winchester is here because he was too drunk to go back to wherever he came from, not because he wants to be. Not because he chose to be. Surely someone is waiting for him, someone he needs to get back to. Someone soft and pretty.

“Unless you have someone, somewhere you have to be. Or somebody is expecting…“ Castiel trips over his words. “Oh, Jesus, I don’t know what I was thinking. Where are you staying, Dean? Of course you have…

“I’m good.” Dean pipes in mercifully. “Let’s do it.”

“Let’s do it,” Castiel repeats as a double-check.  It's so incredible that he is about to watch _The Unnatural_ alone with Dean Winchester in the privacy of his own living room that he has to convince himself that it's true. There is no way this day can get any better.

“I just might need to borrow some of your clothes, if you don’t mind,” Dean says.

And it just got better. Exponentially better. “No, I don’t mind at all.”


	5. You know darn well when you cast your spell you will get your way

Dean Winchester looks pretty damn good in Castiel’s clothes.  Sure, the jeans are a little snug, and the T-shirt a little short, but Dean doesn't seem to mind at all and has no trouble pulling it off.  Still, it's a bit unnerving. Not only is Dean wearing Castiel’s shirt and pants, but also his boxers, which Castiel only offered because he had an unopened package stashed away in the back of his drawer. Dean has borrowed everything except shoes and socks, and that’s because Dean’s feet are currently bare and there’s something so ordinary about it that Castiel really likes.

At first, Castiel finds it difficult to watch Dean Winchester on his television, preferring instead to watch him make himself at home on his sofa. They begin sitting squarely on either side of the sofa and end up with Castiel squished into the arm on one end while Dean lays his head against the opposite end and digs his toes into Castiel torso.

“Sorry man,” Dean laughs again after intentionally jabbing Castiel in the buttocks. “I don’t know how I keep doing that.” Dean pulls himself up and crosses his legs in front of him. “So what do you think?”

“I wasn’t expecting it to have any real substance,” Castiel says honestly. “I thought it was going to be a couple of guys running around half-naked in order to appeal to prurient interests.”

“Huh? What kind of interests?”

“Erotic,” Castiel explains.

Dean grins, raises his brows and snickers as if Castiel has said a naughty word.

“But it’s really about the relationship between the two brothers, albeit obscenely attractive brothers, but still, an otherwise authentic representation of brothers. They’re different but the same, like two garments cut from the same piece of cloth. They have issues. They have real world problems within the setting of an unreal world. It has soul.”

Dean just stares at Castiel for several moments, until Castiel clears his throat.

“I like the way you talk,” Dean says, then blinks a few times. “Soul, huh? That’s good, right? You liked it?”

Castiel can’t help but feel that Dean wants him to like it, maybe even needs him to like it. “I’m hooked. I can’t wait to watch the other one hundred ninety episodes.”

“I can’t stay that long,” Dean jokes.

Castiel tilts his head to one side. “Are you sure?”

Dean doesn’t answer. He dips his head and looks up at Castiel through remarkably long lashes and pokes Castiel again with his foot. Dean’s eyes are without a doubt beautiful but he thinks that Dean’s bare feet may be his new favorite thing.

The alarm on Castiel’s phone beeps and Castiel throws his arms up. “Shit! What time is it?”

“Almost five, why?”

Castiel grabs his phone and shakes his head. “I don’t want to kick you out.  I mean, I really don’t want to kick you out, but I have an…obligation at six, and I have to pick up my car first.”

“Then don’t kick me out.” Dean shrugs.

“What?”

“Don’t kick me out. Where’s your car?”

“Masters’ Garage. It’s about ten minutes from here.”

“Let’s go get your car.” Dean says nonchalantly, then throws his feet off of the couch and reaches for his shoes. “Hey, Cas. You got some socks I can borrow?”

______________________________

 

They walk to Masters’ automotive repair shop. Dean asks if there is anyone who might recognize him at the shop, and Castiel tells him there is, so Dean doesn’t go into the shop, choosing instead to wait down the street for him. A flash of annoyance hits him, reminds him of why he tried to chase Dean away to begin with, but he accepts that it is probably a good call on Dean's part. He is certain that Meg will not only recognize Dean but, thanks to smart phones and data plans, will spread word of the Winchester sighting throughout the entire county at nothing short of the speed of sound.  And that's the last thing Castiel wants.

 ______________________________

 

“Gotta say, I was expecting a Prius.” Dean is sitting on the grassy side of the road when Castiel pulls up in his old, battered, pickup truck. “Never would have guessed you were a truck man.”

“It’s Gabe’s old truck,” Castiel says.

“Gabe?”

“My brother. The carbon footprint is not as light as I’d like, but it’s convenient,” Castiel explains. “I can just throw the kayak or the bike in the back and head out.”

Dean gets up and dusts his hands off on the seat of his pants. “Head out to where?” he asks as he slides into the passenger position of the bench seat.

Castiel shrugs. “Wherever I want. The river. The inlet. The ocean.”

“Huh.” Dean runs his hand along the dashboard. “I like trucks.”

“Where are you staying Dean?” Castiel asks. “Where should I take you?”

Dean tips his head at Castiel. “Well those are two very different questions, Cas.”

“How do you mean?”

“What kind of appointment do you have?” Dean pulls the seatbelt across his chest and buckles it, then casually adds, “maybe I can tag along.”

What? Castiel is barely able to comprehend that Dean is sitting next to him, let alone inviting himself into Castiel’s personal life. But he breathes in slowly, willing himself to just go with it. “I have dinner plans,” he says. “With Hester Henriksen.”

“Oh.” Dean turns his head and faces forward, and Castiel can’t imagine why but it looks like Dean is…disappointed?

“Hester is seventy-two,” Castiel discloses.

“I see,” Dean says slowly.

“We do it every Wednesday.”

“And how long have you been seeing her?” Dean’s trying to suppress a smile, but failing miserably.

“We met when I was sixteen. Wednesday dinners began when I came back from Jacksonville a year ago.”

“Ah. So it’s serious then?”

Castiel nods. “I’d say so. She is one of the finest women I have ever known and certainly a much better cook than Gabe.”

“Then I would love to meet her.”

Castiel studies Dean, tries to figure out exactly what is going on in the handsome man's head, but he draws a blank. “All right,” he says. “Dean, would you care to join me for dinner at the Henriksen’s.”

It’s the deep, haughty voice of Jake Remington that responds to Castiel’s invitation. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 ______________________________

 

Hester Henriksen has no idea who Dean Winchester is, yet she welcomes him to her home on the edge of the river with as much fanfare as his arrival generally calls for. They picked up flowers and a bottle of Hester’s favorite Riesling before they got there, and by the time they sit down for dinner, the wine is nearly gone.

“Are you two sure you won’t have any?” Hester tops off her glass for the fourth or fifth time.

“Oh, no thank you Hester. I’m driving and Dean here,” Castiel peeks sideways at Dean, “he’s a whiskey man.”

“Oh is that so? Well I do have some whiskey if you’d like,” Hester offers.

Dean waves a hand. “Thanks Mrs. Henriksen, but not tonight.”

“You‘ll have a drink with me next time?” she asks.

Dean glances at Castiel, then nods. “Absolutely. Next time. You and me, and maybe we can invite Castiel over here to our little party too.” Dean winks at Hester.

Hester serves a beautiful homemade dinner of schnitzel and spaetzle, and Castiel cannot take his eyes off of Dean as he shoves the food in his mouth like a field worker after a long, hot day, moaning compliments to the cook. The noises Dean makes do something to Castiel, something base, and he tries in vain to pinpoint the exact moment he went from wanting Dean Winchester out of his town to wanting him in his bed.

Hester takes a shine to Dean and it is clearly a mutual attraction. Dean is affable, charming. He flirts relentlessly with the gray-haired woman, and Castiel wonders if it is all part of his act until Hester asks Dean what he does for a living.

“I’m an actor,” he answers freely.

“Oh, that sounds nice,” she says as if Dean has just told her he was an accountant or dog groomer. “In the movies?”

“No, television,” Dean says.

“Victor loved television,” she says. “My Victor was a scientist.”

Dean looks to Castiel for further explanation.

“Victor is Mr. Henriksen,” Castiel clarifies. “And he was a rocket scientist. Literally. Came over from Germany and played a big role in the development of the space program. He invented some doohickey that has been part of every rocket since Apollo thirteen.”

“He built this home for me.” Hester says.

“It’s beautiful,” Dean says.

Hester offers Dean her hand. “Come with me, Dean. Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

“I’d love to Mrs. Henriksen,” Dean says, and he bends his arm at his side so that she can link hers with his.

“Call me Hester,” she says, tucking a strand of her chin length hair behind her ear. Castiel starts to follow them, but Hester holds up her hand. “We’ll be right back, Liebling.”

Dean looks back at Castiel and shrugs before he disappears with Hester. Castiel goes outside and waits for them on the riverbank. Dean’s face beams when he finds Castiel with a handful of over-sized pebbles, throwing them one at a time into the water. “I think I’m in love,” Dean announces, and Castiel’s heart skips a proverbial beat until it kicks in a full half second later that he is talking about Hester. “She is something else, isn’t she?”

Castiel nods his agreement. “She’s a very special woman. She helped me through some difficult times when I was young. And when I was not so young.”

Dean’s mouth moves with a question that never quite works its way out, so Castiel doesn’t answer. It’s not something Castiel wants to talk about anyway. Instead, Dean selects a flat stone from Castiel’s hand and with a sidearm throw and flick of his wrist, the large pebble glides and jumps its way across the surface of the water.

“Show me how to do that,” Castiel says. Dean grins from ear to ear while the two of them scour the muddy bank for suitable candidates, and Dean teaches Castiel how to skip a rock.

When they leave Hester’s house, Dean promises to return and hearing that makes Castiel’s skin prickle in an unexpected way. He is under no delusions where Dean Winchester is concerned. They have nothing in common, and Castiel still has no real reason to believe that Dean is anything other than a typical, gorgeous, straight as an arrow Hollywood actor. Except, maybe, for the way Dean looks him in the eyes, lips slightly parted. Except, maybe, for the way Dean doesn’t seem to want to leave.

Dean heads toward the truck while Hester says goodbye to Castiel.

“He’s a good one, Liebling,” she says. “I know these things.”

Castiel glances over at the man leaning against his truck. “Surprisingly, yes.”

“You should take him to see the turtles.”

Castiel sighs, shakes his head.

“I am quite sure he wants to see the turtles, Castiel.” She takes both of his hands in hers. “Remember that the juice is worth the squeeze.”

Castiel is amused by Hester’s use of Gabriel's words, and it makes him smile, reminds him that Gabriel isn't his only family.  Dean is waiting for him so he hugs her, drops a small kiss on the top of her head and leaves.

“So,” Castiel says once he and Dean are both inside the vehicle.

“Are we once again at the point where you ask me where I’m staying?” Dean slaps his hands on his knees and looks at Castiel.

“No, it's early still,” Castiel says, and the awareness of what he is doing hits him at the same time the words come out of his mouth. “Have you ever seen a sea turtle make a nest on the beach at night?"

“Can’t say I have,” Dean replies easily and Castiel thinks he very well could lose himself in Dean’s warm, righteous, smile. Or that maybe he already has.


	6. Well there's a light in your eyes that keeps shining

Victor Henriksen was a genius. Not because he had an IQ of one hundred sixty. Not because he was an inventor and rocket scientist. Victor Henriksen was a genius because he had managed, against all perceived odds, to capture the heart of Hester Williams. She was young and beautiful while he was not, and the couple was often compared to Bogie and Bacall, Hepburn and Tracy, even Monroe and DiMaggio.

When Castiel was sixteen and working as a busboy at the family’s café, he met the Henriksens for the first time. He noticed the way they looked at one another, the way they held hands and pressed their legs together under the table. It touched him in an unfamiliar way.

Victor caught him staring, and left Hester at the table to speak to the boy. “What’s your name son,” he asked him. His German accent was thick, yet his English impeccable.

“Castiel.”

“Why do you watch us, Castiel? What is it that you see?”

Castiel did not have to think before responding. “Happiness. You seem very happy.”

“Someday you will want a girl to be yours? A girl like Hester?”

Castiel found it charming that Victor referred to the middle-aged woman as a girl. “Something like that,” he responded, and Victor patted him on the shoulder.

“Then I will tell you my secret.” He looked fondly at his wife waiting for him across the patio as he spoke. “It was the turtles,” he told Castiel. “When you find her, you must bring her to see the turtles.”

 ______________________________

 

Castiel knows the Rocket Beach coast like the back of his hand so he parks the truck in the lot of a closed strip mall just west of the ocean. Dean follows him across the street, through a narrow walking path worn between overgrown sea grape shrubs, and down heavily eroded and disturbingly unstable wood stairs.

No one else is there. No one else ever is.

The tide is low so the beach is deep. Castiel instructs Dean to remove his shoes and socks and leave them by the stairs.

“It’s a good thing the moon is full.” Dean looks down the dark beachfront. “No one uses lights here. That doctor’s house I ended up at last night? Pitch black. I couldn’t see two feet in front of me.”

“It’s for the turtles.” Their feet sink with each step toward the firmer shoreline, but Castiel is an expert at traversing the soft sand. “It’s easier if you stay on the balls of your feet,” he tells Dean.

“Dude, I’ve walked on sand before. I got this.” Dean quickens his pace and catches to up to Castiel. “Do the lights bug the turtles or something?”

“Actually, yes. No artificial lighting is allowed along the beachfront during nesting season,” Castiel calls back to Dean. “It distracts the turtles, sometimes disorients them, and then they won’t lay eggs.” Castiel stops and surveys their surroundings. “I don’t see signs of any around here. We can walk for a while, see what we can find?”

“Okay,” Dean steps in place beside Castiel. “What are we looking for?’

“Tracks. From the water toward the dunes.”

“Hey, I think I saw that last night.” Dean squeaks, his voice an octave higher than usual. “Does it look like a tank tread?”

“Yes, actually,” Castiel says. “But did you see a turtle?”

“Well I don’t know. Maybe? What would it look like?”

Castiel stops, turns and faces Dean. “Like a turtle,” he says slowly.

Dean huffs. “C’mon, man. I need a little more than that.”

Castiel tightens his lips to keep from laughing. “Like a _big_ turtle.” He holds his arms up, spread three feet apart to illustrate.

Dean rolls his shoulders and shakes his head, smiling. “Holy ninja turtle. Yeah, okay. I didn’t see one.”

Castiel grins back at him before they start walking again. “So why were you here last night Dean?” he asks.

Dean shoves his hands in his pockets. “Honestly, I was looking for you. You told me you try to walk on the beach every night.”

“And why were you looking for me?”

“I felt guilty. About cheating with the name thing. I wanted to make good on the bet.”

“Well that was very forthright of you.”

“I’m not a cheater.”

“All of the evidence thus far supports a contrary conclusion.”

Dean grins. “ _Damn_ , I like the way you talk.”

“I just insulted you, Dean.”

“I don’t even care. It sounded awesome. So is that lawyer talk or Castiel talk?”

“A bit of both, I suppose.”

“Sam doesn’t talk like that. Of course he just graduated and passed the bar.”

“Where did you and Sam grow up Dean?” Castiel slows his pace a little so Dean can keep up.

“Kansas, mostly. We moved around a lot, but not anywhere like this. Not anywhere like here.”

“Well you live somewhere nice now, don’t you?”

“L.A. is nice. The weather’s nice, and everything is, you know, nice. But it’s not like this. It’s not authentic."

"It's nothing _but_ authentic here."

“You know, Cas, it’s really...different...having a conversation with you.”

Castiel is not sure how to take that. “I’m not exactly sure how to take that,” he tells Dean.

“I mean, I’m not used to talking to someone who doesn’t already know all sorts of stuff about me. It usually gives them an unfair advantage, I think.”

“I knew who you were.”

“Yeah, but that’s about it. Unless you googled me. You didn’t go and google me, did you?”

“Google you? Uh, no. It didn’t even occur to me.” Castiel is disappointed in himself for that, since he really wouldn't mind having an unfair advantage over Dean, but technology has never been his friend. “Should I have?”

“God no. That’s the last thing you should do.”

“Why is that?”

“So many reasons. Just be aware that the internet is full of lies. But I’m right here, so you can find out whatever you want to know directly from the source.”

“Ah. The old-fashioned way.“

“Yep.”

“So you’re a traditional kind of guy.”

“That might depend on your definition of traditional.”

“Well, if you don’t want me to google you, then you have to tell me something about yourself that I can’t find out by googling you.”

“Okay. Deal. Let me think.” Dean twists his lips and looks upward. “I can tell you about my brother Sammy.”

“All right.”

Dean looks surprised. “You really want to hear about my brother?”

“I do.”

A full smile works its way across Dean's face and into his eyes. “Okay. Good.”

They resume walking, the turtle search all but forgotten.  Castiel can't help but notice how relaxed Dean is, how unguarded he seems to be in this setting. While Dean shares things about Sam Winchester, some of which Castiel is sure the man himself would likely not appreciate, a few things become abundantly clear to Castiel. One – Dean adores his brother; two – Dean is not completely comfortable with his celebrity; and three – Castiel does not want this night to end.

“When we were kids, I used to create these little scenarios,” Dean remembers. They have taken a break from walking and are seated on a dry sand bank. Dean runs his fingers through the sand as he speaks. “And Sam was always part of them, but he had no idea. I never really filled him in, so he just thought I was nuts.”

“Scenarios?”

“Yeah. I would make up a whole life. Back story and all. Then I would talk to Sam and everyone around me as if it was real. Well, everyone except my dad. I’d keep it up for days, sometimes weeks at a time.”

“What kind of lives did you make up?”

“Different things. We’d be a family of spies, or Sam and I were kidnapped orphans. Mostly stuff I’d read in books or saw on TV.” Dean laughs. “One time I decided we were a circus family. Acrobats, I told the kids at the new school. Obviously, they didn’t believe me, so I tried to do some kind of back flip to prove it. Broke my collarbone.”

“How old were you?”

“Embarrassingly old.  Twelve."

“You were committed to your role and performed your own stunts. They give out awards for that, dont they?”

“Yeah, well my dad didn’t exactly share that view.”

“He didn’t want to see you get hurt?”

“Maybe. Probably more because the emergency room was expensive than anything else. That was the only time I got hurt, though. If you don’t count when I got caught in the lies and was, you know, disciplined.”

“Disciplined?”

Dean shrugs, looks down at his feet. “Dad didn’t like the game. Not at all. And when he caught me he would, uh, punish me. He told me it was flat out lying and I would never get anywhere in life by pretending. But sometimes I just couldn’t stop myself, even though deep down I knew he was right.”

Dean doesn't say it, but the lines are pretty easy to read between, and Castiel decides he does not like Dean's father.  Not at all.  “Was he though? You make a pretty good living pretending.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. That’s kind of ironic.”  Dean looks up and grins at Castiel. 

“It’s more like poetic justice.”

“I never thought of it that way. Sam and me, we really don’t have much contact with him anymore anyway.”

There are a million things Castiel wants to know, a thousand questions he would ask if he thought he was allowed to; if he thought that whatever-the-hell-this-is was going anywhere.  But all he can do for now is offer his understanding.

“I’m so sorry Dean.”

“Don’t be. It is what it is, right?” Dean waves his hand dismissively. “Besides, it toughened me up a bit. I probably needed that.”

“Why would a child ever need toughening up?” Castiel suspects he already knows the answer, based on his own childhood, but Dean provides none.

“Good question.” Dean rests back on his elbows and looks up at the sky. “By the way, thanks for this, Cas.”

“For what?” Castiel leans back and looks up as well.

“For today. Everything. It was fun and it was...normal. You treat me like I’m normal.”

Castiel tilts his head. “You _are_ normal, Dean.”

Dean makes a face. “Yeah, well I wore a disguise to your restaurant, remember?”

“You wore a hat and sunglasses in Florida. Nothing abnormal about that.”

Dean kicks Castiel playfully. “You’re a dick.” Dean’s lop-sided smile is, at a minimum, offhandedly flirtatious.

“I know,” Castiel admits.

They sit quietly for a while, Dean still looking up at the night sky. Castiel looks up too, tries to see what it is that Dean sees while he digs his feet into the sand. It’s breezy, starting to get cool, and the stillness between them is comfortable, even nice, until Dean looks at his watch.

“I probably should go back.”

This is the first time he has seen Dean look at his watch in the last two days. Castiel blinks. He knows he has no right to be, but he’s hurt and offended.  He thought it was going well. He thought Dean was enjoying himself. “All right.” Castiel springs to his feet immediately, offers his hand to Dean and helps him get up. “Where are you staying Dean?”

Dean snorts. “So we’re there again? Already?”

“Well you’re right. It’s getting late and…”

“You really should let a guy finish, Cas. I was going to say, I probably should go back, but I don’t want to.”

“Oh.”

“But it’s getting kinda cold, so I don’t mind if we head that way, as long as on the way back _I_ get to ask _you_ questions.” Dean rubs the top of his head with one hand. “All we’ve done is talk about me. I don’t want to have to google you.”

“Go right ahead.” Castiel says.

“Ask questions or google you?”

“Either. Both.”

“So why don’t you practice law anymore?” Dean manages to hit the sore spot only one question in.

Castiel searches for a true lie, an answer that is honest yet incomplete. “I became disillusioned, I guess.”

“What happened?”

“A lot of things happened.” Castiel feels his stomach begin to roil. “Would you mind terribly if we don’t talk about that?”

Dean nods. “Okay, sure. But at least tell me this. Does it have something to do with a girl?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Because it’s always about a girl, am I right?” Dean raises his eyebrows and offers a seductive half-smirk.

Dean is not right. “No. It wasn’t. Not a girl.”

“No girl?”

Castiel is confused. And frustrated. And tired. Dean is a contradictory creature that Castiel does not have the energy to navigate. “Dean, do you remember what you said last night?”

“I said a lot of things last night, Cas.”

“Yes you did. You told our police chief to suck your dick, for example.”

“Yep, yep. That was not my finest moment.”

“And you also asked me if I liked boys.”

Dean scrunches his face. “How embarrassing. When I’m drunk I'm a ten-year-old.”

Castiel smiles. “I found it rather sweet.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t answer me.”

“So you _do_ remember?”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“Why did you want to know?”

“Just curious?”

Castiel shakes his head. “And why did you call me from the jail? Don’t you have a manager or a bodyguard or a, what do they call them?”

“A handler?”

“Yes.”

“No. I don’t have a handler. And I told you. I needed to fess up to the cheating.”

“You told me you like me.”

“What the fuck is this? Sixth grade all over again?” Dean’s indignation sounds manufactured, contrived. “’Cause I gotta tell you, it wasn’t that great the first time around, so, yeah, this is loads of fun. You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

“What did you mean when you said you liked me Dean?”

“No offense, Cas, but you’d make a really shitty detective.”

“It shouldn’t take a detective, should it? Just answer the question and I promise I will leave you alone.”

“I don’t want you to leave me alone.”

“What?”

“I said I don’t want you to…fuck, Cas. Am I wrong about you? About this?” Dean throws his arms up. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mumbles.

And then it finally sinks in. Dean _is_  interested.  Dean is trying to hit on him, he’s just not any good at it. He’s actually rather awful at it. “No you’re not wrong. About me, or this.”

“Can I just…?” Instead of finishing the question, Dean dips his head and presses his lips to Castiel’s.

“Yes,” Castiel answers when Dean pulls away.

“It’s okay?” Dean asks. “I really don’t fucking know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t believe that.” Castiel tips his head slightly to the side and kisses Dean softly. “Give me the best you’ve got, and I’ll be the judge.”

Dean’s lips curl up on both ends and he flutters his lashes before he goes in for another kiss. Castiel closes his eyes, feels Dean’s mouth brush against his, then his bottom lip pinched between Dean’s teeth. Dean ever-so-softly tugs and nips at Castiel’s lip while he holds Castiel’s face in his hands. His fingers splay across both cheeks, his thumbs caress the bones there while his tongue flicks across Castiel’s slightly parted mouth before it pushes inside and tangles with Castiel’s tongue.

With his hands loosely hanging onto Dean’s hips, Castiel offers full submission, allows Dean to angle his head as needed, to control the depth and intensity of their kisses. Dean folds both arms around Castiel, pulls him into him, then slides his hands down the length of Castiel’s back to settle on his buttocks.

“What do you want, Dean?” Castiel whispers.

Dean rests his forehead against Castiel’s. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Tell me.”

“Touch me. I want you to touch me.” Dean takes Castiel’s hand and lays it against the bulge between his legs. “Please, Cas.”

Castiel obliges by stroking Dean through his pants. He wishes now that he had given Dean something a little thinner to wear, like sweatpants or gym shorts, because he wants to feel Dean, and he can’t. Even though Dean has responded to the contact, Castiel deems the denim to be unforgiving and frustrating. Dean must be reading his mind, though, because without a word, he unbuttons, then unzips the jeans, and Castiel accepts the offer by licking along the length of his palm then slipping his hand beneath the waistband of Dean’s boxers. Dean grunts softly when Castiel finds the firm, solid flesh, lays one hand on Castiel’s shoulder and wraps the other around the back of his neck. Castiel grips loosely, slides his hand up and down. He adds his other hand, applies his repertoire of strokes and twists, tugs and taps, with varying speed and pressure, but his saliva is not enough and it is too dry. Even though Dean seems satisfied, if the sounds he is making are a valid measure, it’s not good enough. Dean deserves more. Castiel wants to give him more, wants to give him what he suspects Dean has been denying himself.

Castiel senses a stir of resistance from Dean when he removes his hands, but it is gone by the time Castiel’s knees hit the sand. His fingertips catch and pull on the edge of those infernal jeans, dragging them down just far enough to release Dean. Castiel leans into him, blows softly, then grazes the underside of Dean’s length with his open mouth, teases with the tip of his tongue before sucking him in.

“Oh my god, fuck, yes.” Dean’s voice cracks and his fingers curl into Castiel’s hair, wind their way around the strands.

Castiel tries to make it last as long as possible, letting go when he can feel Dean is close, then starting all over again. Dean keeps one hand anchored in Castiel’s hair while his hips roll slowly, gently. He touches Castiel’s cheek with the other hand, fingers the lips wrapped securely around him. Castiel begins to moan; low, deep, well-timed grumbles meant to give pleasure as much as express it, and then Dean is gone, coming with his head thrown back, uttering a steady stream of praise for Castiel.

Castiel tucks Dean into his jeans and falls back onto his heels when he is done. Dean drops down in front of Castiel, pulls him to his chest and lays his head on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Can there be more?” Dean breathes into Castiel’s neck. “I want more. Please, Cas?”

Castiel shudders. “Yes. Yes.”

Dean reaches for Castiel’s crotch, but Castiel grabs his hand and stops him. He wants to do so many things to Dean, with Dean, for Dean, and a windy beach full of sand is not the place for it.

“Not here,” Castiel says. He weaves his fingers with Dean’s. “Home.”


	7. Is this the real life?  Is this just fantasy?

_Calling in favor. Please open for me tomorrow morning. Important.  Will explain later._

Castiel texts Jo while Dean is in the bathroom. Even in his current state of advanced arousal, heightened by the reckless groping in the truck on the way to the bungalow, Castiel has the wherewithal to recognize that what he has in mind for the rest of this evening may very well hinder his ability to make it to the Café first thing in the morning. 

Jo responds right away:  _6ish?   2 early 4 me! only if ur gettin sum_

Jo is a good friend. Even if she does use those ridiculous text abbreviations.  Castiel grins as he taps out the one word reply: _affirmative_

 _ahhhhhhhh (scream)! need deets asap. do I hve to make mffns?_

Jo is a _very_ good friend _._ Castiel answers: _Yes re muffins only.  TY_

_U suck._

Castiel smiles to himself at the unintentional accuracy of Jo’s insult.  He shuts his phone off to avoid any interruptions, tosses it behind him onto the nightstand, and waits for Dean.

______________________________

 

Something changes between the bathroom and the bedroom.  Castiel does not know exactly what that is, but by the look on Dean’s face he is certain it has to do with whatever it is he is reading on his phone when he enters the room. 

Dean doesn't make it past the doorway.  He stands straight and still within the frame. “Cas, I, I’m sorry, but…” he stammers, fumbles the words. “I’m not, you know.  I can’t...” 

Castiel can see it in his eyes, all over his face. Dean has changed his mind.  There were no turtles and the spell is broken and there’s nothing Castiel can do about it. 

“Nothing to be sorry for.”  Castiel manages to sound both bitter and indifferent at once. “You tried it, you didn’t like it.  No big deal.” 

“What are you talking…”  Dean’s eyes widen when he comprehends what Castiel has said. “No, Cas.  That’s not…no.”

“Look, I get it.  You told me last night, so I had fair warning.  You don’t like boys.” 

“Cas, listen…” 

“Although, and forgive me for stating the obvious, it felt like you were on board with the man-man thing when your dick was in my mouth.  But I guess, a mouth is a mouth, right?”  

“Jesus, fuck, no.  Please don’t think that.”  Dean’s shoulders droop, his fingers rake through his hair. “Please don’t think that.”

“What am I supposed to think?” Castiel gets up from the bed and pushes past Dean into the living area.  Dean is right behind him when Castiel spins around quickly. “You started it, Dean.  With me. _You_ started it.  Why?” 

“I’m…I’m not…I do like… I mean, I did like…I used to...” Dean shakes his head loosely as if to clear it.  “It’s been a long time, that’s all.  Not since…” Dean stops, hesitates, and his inability to articulate only confounds Castiel more.  

“Not since the show,” Dean finally manages to get out. “Not since the photo shoots and the press junkets and all the publicity.  And it’s fine. I’m good at pretending. So, when I started doing the show, I pretended that that guy didn’t exist anymore."  Dean shoves his hands into his back pockets and looks down at the floor.  "And then, after a while, he didn’t.” 

“So none of this was real?”  Castiel pushes his brows together.  Dean is finally making sentences but he is not making sense.  “The beach? Hester’s?”

“No,” Dean’s voice is soft, almost calm now. “Everything here has been real. Ever since I came to Rocket Beach it’s all been real.  It’s everything else that isn’t.”

Dean drops his chin and for a moment there are no words. Castiel hopes for a reprieve, a truce. “Then stay,” he says softly, brushes Dean’s cheek with the back of his hand. “You don’t have to leave, Dean.  Not yet.” 

“I want to.  Believe me, I want to.  But I can’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No one can know, Cas.  About this, this… you know.   And I can’t ask you to get involved in that.”

It breaks Castiel’s heart that Dean can’t – or won’t - say the words.  “About this what, Dean?  You can’t ask me to get involved in what?  Your life? Your lie?  Or are they one in the same?”

“Cas, if it got out, it would be the end of everything for me.  The show…” 

“What about the show?” 

“I won’t be viewed the same way.  I know it’s hard to believe it, but it’s true. It would be the end of the money. We’re talking about a lot of money, Cas.  People depend on it. It’s been made perfectly clear to me.  The show would lose sponsors, viewers, then more sponsors and it would be canceled.  Because of me. It doesn’t just affect me, but everyone involved with the show.  Real people with families.” 

“My god do you even hear yourself?   _You're_ a real person.  You're actually willing to live some made up life for sponsors? For money?  Of all things, for money?”  Castiel looks down and away from him.

“I don’t have a choice.” Dean sounds so sincere, it’s almost as if he believes the words he is saying, and that worries Castiel the most. 

“That’s a lie.  You can lie to yourself, to everyone.  But I will always know it’s a lie, Dean.”

“Yeah.” Dean nods, rubs his hand over his mouth.  “I guess I should go.”

“But I told Chief Singer you were staying here,"  Castiel blurts, then cringes at his own futile words. 

Dean looks up, a solemn, false smile on his face.  “Well I guess that makes us both liars, Cas.”

Dean’s hand is on the knob of the front door when Cas calls out to him from behind. “You can't have them,”  Castiel says. His arms are folded defiantly across his chest by the time Dean turns back around and sees him.

“What?”

“My clothes. You're wearing my clothes." 

Dean sighs, loud and heavy, then pulls his wallet out of the back pocket of his-Castiel’s-pants and rifles through the bills inside of it. “How much?” 

Castiel’s mouth falls open.  “You’re going to _pay_ me?  For my clothes?”

“A hundred bucks?  Does that cover it?”

“What? No.”

“Two hundred?”

“Christ, I don't want your money, Dean. That's the last thing I want.  Some things can't be bought.” 

“They’re just clothes.  You’re telling me I can't buy clothes?”

“Not _my_ clothes.”

Dean looks a little like he wants to punch something, and Castiel is glad. “Fine.  Have them back.”  Dean grabs the hem of the too-short T-shirt, pulls it over his head with one hand and throws it on the floor.  “There you go.”  He hastily grabs at the waistband of the jeans, slipping off his shoes.

“Stop it.” Castiel raises his open palm when he realizes what Dean is doing.  “Forget it.  That’s not what I... Keep them.” He storms back toward his bedroom to get away from Dean, but Dean follows, unbuttoning then unzipping the denim pants on the way.

“Nope. You want them back, you’re getting them back.”  Dean hops on one foot as he roughly pulls the pants off of him and flings them across the room. Dean and Castiel glare at one another while Dean hooks his thumbs under the elastic waistband of the boxer shorts, then balks.  

“Dean, don’t,” Castiel warns, but Dean draws his lips into an angry, tight line and pulls the boxers down and off in one swift, determined motion.  He balls them up in his hand before he hurls them at Castiel’s face.

“You want your clothes, you've got your fucking clothes.” Dean stands naked, and, Castiel can’t help but notice, semi-hard, his arms out to his side in defeat. “Happy?” 

Castiel steps over to Dean and studies his face, head sloped to one side. "Dean,” he says.

Dean swallows hard, his eyes locked on Castiel’s lips.  “Cas.”

"Dean."

"Cas?"

“Dean.” Castiel looks down at Dean’s feet. “I’m going to need my socks back too.”

"You son of a..." Dean doesn’t finish his sentence.  He can’t because his mouth is crushed against Castiel’s, his words lost on the other man’s lips and tongue.  They press together, hands everywhere at once, until Castiel pulls away and undresses.  Dean silently watches, and when Castiel is done, he lies back on the bed. Dean slides up and over him.  

“I swear, this is real.” Dean lays kisses along Castiel’s neck while his hand moves gently up his thigh.  “I promise you, I mean this.”

Castiel closes his eyes and lets his head fall back onto the pillow. “It doesn’t matter,” he says.


	8. When everything’s made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am

There is something liberating about resignation. Something easy and final about it that calms Castiel. He’s not at all used to it, having spent his adult life and career fighting for what he believed was right, but his decision has been made as far as Dean Winchester is concerned and there will be no second-guessing.

It is still dark outside when Castiel opens his eyes. He wasn’t sleeping, but Dean seems to be, and Castiel resists the urge to burrow into him, to hold onto him for as long as possible. He gets up and out of the bed quietly, as it’s the only way to keep himself from touching Dean.

He pulls on a pair of shorts and moves slowly and quietly to the kitchen. He switches the oven on to preheat, grabs a clear glass mixing bowl. Dean is leaving and Castiel will never see him again. He knows Dean will try to forget him, perhaps “pretend” he never met him, but he’ll be damned if Dean won’t think about Castiel’s muffins for the rest of his life.

He works with the efficiency of experience, and it is not long before the muffins are in the oven and filling the tiny house with mouth-watering aromas of chocolate, vanilla, and banana.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean is dressed in the clothes he was wearing when they first met. “Something smells great.”

“Muffins.” Castiel checks the timer and looks through the oven door window. “They’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“You make muffins?”

Castiel crosses his arms, leans back against the counter, and nods.

“Wait. Do you make _the_ muffins? The blueberry, and the chocolate chip?” Dean sounds impressed.

“Yes.”

“So technically, you are the actual muffin man?” Dean chuckles, enjoying his own joke.

Castiel laughs. “The Café is ours. Mine and my brother’s. He does all the cooking, I make the muffins and serve customers. It works.”

“That’s cool, Cas. It’s a great Café. I really enjoyed it.”

The oven timer beeps and Castiel uses a mitt to remove the tray from the oven. He gestures toward the counter stool, and Dean sits. Castiel plates one of the muffins and sets it in front of Dean. “Fork?”

“No, thanks. It won’t last that long.”

“Banana chocolate chip,” Castiel tells him as he bites off a chunk.

“I’m so hungry,” Dean says, smiling with his mouth open even though it is full of muffin. “This is delicious. I can’t believe you make these, Cas.”

Castiel hesitates indecisively for several moments, then sputters the words that were caught up on his tongue. “When you’re done eating, I want to show you something.”

Dean looks up from his muffin and nods. “Okay, sure.”

 ______________________________

 

“Shhh.” Castiel places a finger to his lips. It just after six in the morning, and Hester is still sleeping. They rode bicycles over to the home on the river to avoid making any noise, and left them in the side yard. Dean follows Castiel around the back of the house to a large, stately oak tree so close to the edge of the property that its branches hang carelessly over the water.

There is barely any light, just two muted beams from the fixtures on the back porch and the disappearing moon, so Castiel uses a small flashlight on his keychain to point out to Dean the wood blocks that are nailed in a vertical line on one side of the broad tree trunk. When Dean nods, Castiel starts his climb up.

“C’mon.” He waves down to Dean when he is a full body length above him. “The view is incredible from up here.”

Dean looks up at him. “I don’t know, Cas, the view is pretty good from where I’m standing too.”

Castiel doesn’t want to blush, but he does, and he is grateful that Dean can’t see it. He continues to climb, then wedges himself between the junction of two familiar branches before he notices that Dean has finally begun his ascent.

“I haven’t climbed a tree in a million years,” Dean spits out, panting, just as he reaches him. “What are we…?” Dean follows the line of Castiel’s extended arm to where the sun peeks over the watery horizon. “You can see the ocean from here?”

Castiel nods. “And the river. Victor intentionally built the home on the narrowest strip of the island between the two bodies of water. It’s less than half a mile.”

“Wow. This is fucking awesome, Cas.”

“I know.”

They sit quietly within the tree and watch the sun come up, the glowing orange sphere growing in size and changing to yellow, then white as it rises over the ocean, lights up the sky.

It’s daylight when Dean breaks the silence. “Hey, is that a baby island?” He leans in toward Castiel to get a better look at the river behind him.

Castiel does not have to look. He knows exactly what Dean is referring to. “Yes it is. It’s a spoil island.”

“What’s a spoil island?”

“They’re the result of dredging in the river fifty, sixty years ago. There are tons of them around here, some of them quite large. That one, it’s nothing, really, size-wise. I used to pretend it was my own personal island. It was a great place to go when I didn’t want to be found.”

“You’ve been on it?”

“Spent a lot of time there as a teen. Drinking, mostly.”

“Castiel’s Island,” Dean snickers. “Tell me about your name. How did that happen?”

“It's the Angel of Thursday.”

“I know that,” Dean says. “Well, after I looked it up I knew. Is there any reason your folks named you that? Were you born on a Thursday or something?”

“Yes I was. My mother was a religious woman. She believed in a lot of things, particularly angels. She named us both after angels. My older brother is named Gabriel. Gabriel was the angel who told Mary she was knocked up.”

Dean laughs. “Tough gig, but somebody had to do it.”

Castiel grins. “My name was supposed to be Michael. Gabriel and Michael are angels whose names are mentioned in the bible, but Castiel isn’t. My mother said that she was told, in a dream, that she must name me Castiel. So she did.”

“Well it’s a great name. It suits you.”

“Thanks.”

“What about your dad?”

Castiel knows he has already said too much, that he is talking about things that he shouldn’t, he is sharing things that should not be shared with passers-by like Dean, but he doesn’t stop.

“I never knew my dad. And Gabe never knew his. We don’t even know for sure that we have different fathers, but my grandfather said we did, and we don’t look anything alike, so it seems likely."

“Your mom never told you?”

“No. She denied that I even had a father. I used to think that she was just saying that to protect me, because he was a bad guy or something. But then I realized that she truly believed it.”

Dean raises his eyebrows.

Castiel sighs, considers whether he should continue. He has already given Dean more than he had intended. He looks at Dean’s face, sees sincerity in the brightness of his green eyes, candor in the rosy flush spread across his freckled cheeks. He trusts Dean.

“My mother, her name was Anna, she was a good person. She was. She was kind, and loving, and fun, and she tried to do her best for us, but she was ill. Mentally. She heard voices. Angels’ voices. And she would often forget to do things, like send us to school. People started noticing, so we started moving around when I was pretty young. Gabe got sick of it and came back here to work at Papa’s restaurant when he was sixteen. She couldn’t stop Gabe, but I was eleven, and she wouldn’t let me come. When I was sixteen, Gabe got his own apartment and he came and took me, brought me back here to live and work at the Café.”

“You said ‘was’. Is she dead?”

“Yes.”

Dean blinks. “I’m so sorry.”

“She loved us. I was very well-loved as a child.” Castiel did not mean to sound defensive, but he does, purely out of habit. Castiel has been defending his mother ever since he can remember. He looks away from Dean.

“I don’t doubt that for a minute, Cas,” Dean says.

 ______________________________

 

Castiel’s back is to Dean while he carefully places several muffins in a white take away bag from the restaurant, the words _Rogue Wave Café_ printed boldly across the width of it. The kitchen is small. He hears Dean come up behind him, can feel the heat of his body there, the brush of his breath against his neck as he speaks.

“Hey, Cas.”

Castiel’s heart jumps. He inhales deeply before he twists around to face him.

“I have to go,” Dean says quietly. “My car is here.”

Castiel nods almost indiscernibly, then looks up at Dean when Dean takes his hand and folds their fingers together.

“Listen, Cas. I was wondering if you would…if you’d ever consider…doing this again.”

Castiel can’t prevent the spark of hope that floods his body, though he knows how it will play out. He wasn’t expecting Dean to ask, but he has already answered this question in his mind. He studies Dean for a long moment before responding, avoiding the inevitable. Still, if he says yes, Dean will be back. “Are you asking me to pretend?”

Dean drops his chin, chest heaving. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. You’re too damn good for me.”

“Don’t say that.” Castiel shakes his head, tries to mask his anger at Dean’s warped view of himself. “Don’t think that. It’s not true.”

“Say goodbye to Hester for me, will ya?”

Castiel smiles fondly. “Of course. And don’t forget these.” He hands the bag of muffins to Dean. “For when you get hungry. On your way home.”

Dean releases Castiel’s hand and accepts the bag of muffins. He leans in and places a kiss on Castiel’s forehead.  "You're gonna be okay?"

Castiel nods once.  "Never not fantastic."

Dean laughs softly, wistfully.  “I wish I was braver,” he says.

Castiel does not know what to say, so he says nothing.

 ______________________________

 

Once Dean is gone, Castiel tries to occupy himself. He goes back to bed, but he can’t sleep. He has no interest in television. Or food. Or company. Rather than dissipating, the burn in his throat intensifies, moves down into his chest and demands a release that Castiel is not willing to give. He grabs an unopened bottle of tequila from his cabinet, throws his kayak in his truck, and goes to his island.


	9. On his face is a map of the world

Castiel has been in love only one time in his life; with a lawyer he met while working his first post bar exam job at a small, independent, Jacksonville law firm. The relationship didn’t last. He knows now that it wasn’t really meant to, but he had felt inexplicably drawn to Grace from the moment he met her. She was older, wiser, driven, and forthright. She never lied to him, never told him he meant more to her than he did, and he found it ironic that her ability to confidently declare to him that she loved him but was not in love with him made him love her more.

Of course, that was the beginning of the end of his time with Grace. And although Castiel knew it was coming, it was still painful. After just short of a year together, living without Grace was more difficult than he had imagined, and working every day at the same firm with her was even harder.

And then he met Michael.

Castiel sips from the tequila bottle as he sits propped against the narrow trunk of a palm tree. Fucking Dean Winchester. He was right about him. He was wrong about him. This is his own fault, really, for forgetting just what Dean Winchester was, for allowing himself to see the man behind the curtain, the man behind the _TV Guide_ face.

He looks at the half empty bottle in his hand. It was supposed to make him forget. He digs the bottle into the sand, and closes his eyes. He is tired, so tired. He just needs some sleep. Sleep is good. Everything will be better if he could just get some sleep.

 ______________________________

 

Castiel’s head is pounding. His body is stiff, wracked with an irreconcilable amalgam of numbness and pain. His mouth is dry and he is thirsty. He is very thirsty, and he didn’t even think to bring fresh water with him. Stupid. He is damp, so it has rained. Of course it has. It rains nearly every day during summer, this time just enough to wet his clothes but not enough to waken him.

It must be between eight-thirty and nine at night, based on the darkness of the sky and the position of the moon. He reaches into his pocket for his phone to confirm his estimation, but it isn’t there. Shit. He left that at home too. He pushes himself up; he has somehow managed to flatten himself into the sand while he slept. He steadies himself on his knees first, then slowly, deliberately, stands. He slaps the sand from his body roughly, tries to gauge just how much he is able to feel, then reaches back for what’s left of the tequila and heads for the kayak.

______________________________

 

The front door is unlocked, as he left it, and he stumbles through it and straightaway into the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator and drinks it down faster than he would have believed possible. He's dehydrated. He refills the empty bottle with water from the faucet, and is trying to remember where he left the ibuprofen when the light in the living room flicks on.

He jumps, startled by the sudden brightness but also sensitive to it. His eyes shut immediately.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Castiel knows the voice.  He steps toward it, rubs his eyes with one hand and forces them open.

“Don’t you look like absolute shit.”

“Gabe.” Castiel’s voice is scratchy, gruff. “What are you doing here?” He squints at the man on his couch, tries to see more clearly.

“Well, I was worried about you,” he says, but he sounds angry, not concerned. “I had Bobby looking all over for you. But I see you were just on a bender. Nice.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I left my phone here.” He shuffles closer to Gabriel. “So what?”

Gabriel stands, throws both arms up into the air. “So what? So what? That’s what you've got to say to me? That’s your story?”

Castiel is confused. All he wanted was to get a little drunk and be alone for a while. He doesn’t understand why Gabriel is so upset, or why he would be looking for him simply because he couldn’t reach him for half of a day.

“That’s some real passive aggressive, fucked up shit, Castiel. I looked like a fucking idiot. I tried, though, I did. I lied, pretended to get a phone call, said you were sick. But they didn’t buy it. They knew.”

Castiel blinks several times and his eyes begin to focus. Gabriel is wearing a suit, his one and only suit, the striped red tie loosened around his collar, the jacket draped across the arm of the sofa. The suit that has gathered dust in his closet since it was purchased for Castiel’s law school graduation. The suit he never wears, except…

And it is then that Castiel is struck with an acute clarity that belies his physical condition. The meeting with the investors. The meeting with the goddamn investors. That was today. And he missed it. He didn’t even think about it. His mouth drops open and he closes his eyes.

“Ding, ding, ding…” Gabriel says, but it lacks the usual glibness.

“Gabe, I’m sorry,” Castiel brings both hands to his face. “I am so sorry. I completely forgot. I left my phone, so my alarm didn’t…”

“Tell Castiel what he has won!” Gabriel continues with a game-show-host tone to his still angry voice. “Well, you’ve won exactly what you wanted in the first place. No investors. No money. No expansion.”

“I’ll call them. I’ll tell them it was my fault and ask…”

“Don’t you get it? You’re my partner, and you didn’t bother to show up. Didn’t bother to call. You think there's a chance in hell they'll want to hand over one-point-two million dollars to either one of us now?”

Castiel drops his head, shaking it. “I’ll find other investors. I’ll make some calls. I still know people, I’ll, I’ll…” Castiel looks at Gabriel, pleading. “I’ll fix this, Gabe. I will.”

“Don’t.” Gabriel says sharply, then lowers his voice. “We were supposed to be in this together. I knew you had reservations, but I thought you were with me. You told me you would do this with me. I didn’t want to do this alone, and you promised me, Cas. But it’s pretty clear where you stand.”

Gabriel picks up his jacket and moves toward the door, stopping next to Castiel. “What the fuck happened to you, man? You really look like crap.”

Castiel cannot bring himself to face his brother, cannot make eye contact with him. “Nothing. Nothing happened. I just fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did.”

He doesn’t look up, but Castiel flinches when he hears the door slam.


	10. And all the lights that light the way are blinding

One of the best things about Mayor Rufus Turner is that he makes it his business to know just about everything going on in town. Of course, it’s also one of the worst things about him. Castiel wouldn’t want to say that Rufus engages in gossip, but as far as Rufus’s virtues go, discretion barely makes honorable mention. Everyone in town knows this about Rufus and yet, he still manages to get people to open up to him, tell him things. As he sits on his usual stool at the counter, devouring a lemon poppy seed muffin, newspaper in hand, Castiel has little doubt that Rufus knows all about what happened - or, more accurately, what didn’t happen - last week with the investors.

“Been a little frosty around here lately.” Rufus looks up from his newspaper and tips his head toward Gabriel, who is moving about the kitchen with purpose, prepping for lunch.

Castiel watches his older brother for a few moments, then turns back to Rufus with a frown. “Yes it has.”

“Everything okay?”

“It will be. We’re good.” Castiel returns to busying himself by wiping down already clean things with a dry towel.

Rufus folds the newspaper, pushes it away from him, and crosses his arms on the counter. “He told me about your decision.”

“My decision?”

“Called it a joint decision. Said you both decided to bow out of the renovation. That you’re just gonna keep things small and manageable.”

“Gabe told you that?”

“He did. He certainly looked none too happy about it, though.” Rufus shakes his head. “It’s a shame. Town could really have used a kick in the pants.“

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Rocket Beach is a great place to raise a family, but throw a little night life into the mix and then maybe, we start attracting a different crowd.”

“You actually want that?” he asks, his tone as incredulous as the look on his face.  It never really occurred to Castiel that any of the long term residents would share Gabriel's vision for change.

“Of course we do. Maybe you’ve noticed, we ain’t getting any younger around here. What happens when we all die?”

Castiel drops his towel and moves closer to Rufus. “Don’t talk like that.”

“May we all die happy and with our bellies full of your muffins.” Rufus grins and shoves the last bit of muffin into his mouth. Castiel rolls his eyes.

“No, I’m serious as a heart attack, Cas.” Rufus keeps talking once he is done chewing. “We need to repopulate, and there ain’t but a few handfuls of you young ‘uns left here that are of repopulating age.”

“Well, the subject is not foreclosed,” Castiel says with caution because, well, it's Rufus. “We’re still looking into it. I’m looking into it.”

“That’s great news,” Rufus says. “But what about the bite on the property next door, the one you’ll need for the parking once you remodel?"

“What bite? That property's been for sale for two years now.”

“Yep. Kind of sudden, wasn't it?”

Castiel narrows his eyes.  “Pamela wouldn’t sell it out from under us. Actually, she can’t. She has to give us a chance to match any offer.” Surely the small town realtor would at least come talk to them first.

“Well, I hear this ain’t just any bite. I hear it’s a shark bite.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning they’ve been a-circling and now they’re ready to strike. They’ve got cash and are offering asking price. Didn’t Gabe tell you any of this?”

“He knows?”

“Pamela Barnes was in here talking to him about it a couple days ago.”

Castiel feels struck in the chest. Gabriel isn’t just giving him the cold shoulder.  Gabriel's given up on him as a partner, he's given up on his own dream for the family business. Castiel told Gabriel he would fix it, but it is apparent that Gabriel believes that he can't, or, even worse, that he won't.  “He…He probably just forgot.”

Rufus looks askance at Castiel, but doesn’t question him. Instead, Rufus graciously changes the subject.

“Hey, did you hear about Rocket Beach’s secret admirer?”

“Admirer?” Castiel dawdles behind the counter while he nonchalantly sneaks a peek at Gabriel through the window into the kitchen. Or at least he thinks it's nonchalantly.  Gabriel looks somber as he works over the grill, until the new server, Rachel appears. Gabriel looks up at her and he smiles. A huge, goofy, happy, smile. Castiel hasn’t seen that smile in a while. Gabriel hasn’t so much as slapped him on the back since their falling out, and as much as Castiel used to complain about it, he wants it back. He will do anything to get it back. “And who might that be?” he asks Rufus without looking away from the kitchen.

Rufus scowls at Castiel. “I said it was a _secret_ admirer.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Castiel glances over in time to catch Rufus’s stink eye, then starts stuffing the already full napkin dispensers with more napkins. 

“Yeah. Well, a few days ago, we started getting these anonymous donations in via some internet money transfer thing,” Rufus says. “The Police Fund, the Turtle Protection Group, Meals on Wheels.”

“Meals on Wheels?” Castiel stops what he is doing, drops the napkins on the counter in front of him. Rufus now has his full attention.

“A thousand dollars, out of nowhere, with a notation that said ‘lost bet.'”

Castiel’s eyes go wide. “That’s, uh, interesting.”

“Another thousand to the Rocket Beach Police Fund. It just said ‘my bad.'  And then five grand to the turtles. That one had some strange note about keeping ninjas in the dark or some other ninja turtle hogwash. I don’t remember.”

Dean Winchester. Goddamned Dean Winchester. In the last five days, Castiel spent an inordinate amount of time not thinking about him, not watching his stupid television show, not googling him, because it stung to be reminded of him. But this? This is unexpected in the best way, and it does not sting. In the midst of what has shaped into another terrible day, what Dean has done makes him feel good.

“If they’re anonymous, then how do you know they’re from the same man – or donor?” Castiel asks.

“Because each one is signed exactly the same.”

“And how is that?”

“They all say ‘policy of anonymity’. Have you got any idea what they’re talking about?”

“No, nope, no.” Castiel lies while shaking his head and wiping his palm across his face to conceal both his jerking eyebrow tell and an irrepressible grin. “I’ve never heard anything like that before.”

______________________________

 

Instead of talking with Gabriel, which he acknowledges to himself would be the proper, grown-up way to handle the matter, Castiel opts to call Pamela Barnes himself about the vacant property next door.

“Well, hello, sweet cheeks,” Pamela purrs over the line. “What can I do for my favorite lawyer-slash-restaurateur?”

Pamela is a flirter, but her efforts are wasted on Castiel and he needs to get to the point. “Is someone else trying to buy the property?”

“No.”

No? Is it possible that Rufus got it wrong? Rufus’s information is never wrong.

“Not trying to,” she adds. “It’s basically a done deal. Didn’t you talk to Gabriel? I told him about it two days ago.”

“Who is it? Someone local?”

“Not anybody local, but that's about all I know.  I really don't know who's behind it because it’s a corporation making the purchase. I’ve only been dealing with an agent on the company’s behalf. Everything is very hush-hush.”

“You know we need that property, Pamela. We can’t expand without it.”

“Gabriel told me that was not going to happen.”

Castiel sighs. “How long do I have? To come up with the money?”

“It’s six hundred twenty-five thousand dollars, Castiel.”

“How long?” Castiel says firmly, slipping unintentionally into lawyer mode. “We do have right of first refusal, don’t we? I’m quite certain that was secured somewhere along the way, and it would be a breach…”

“Yes, you do,” Pamela interrupts, slightly annoyed at the suggestion that she was unaware. “And that’s why I spoke with Gabe, and he refused. So now it’s…”

“I need more time.”

“Castiel, I’m sorry, but…”

He is not above begging. “Please, Pamela. Two days. Give me two days.”

There is silence on the other end of the line, then a long, deep sigh. “Okay Blue Eyes. I’m gonna catch some shit for this, but I can stall for two more days. But that’s all I can probably get away with. Time is money with these Richie Rich types.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, relieved.

“Just so you know, when the whole re-do happens and the Rogue Wave is the happening place to be, I expect an open invitation to the VIP room.” Pamela says.

VIP room? Castiel really should have paid better attention to exactly what Gabriel’s plans entailed. He nods into the phone. “Noted.”

______________________________

 

He needs some perspective, and the ocean has never failed to provide him that. He walks, then runs down the beach as he attempts to objectively appraise the situation. He has made calls, even garnered some interest from a small group in South Florida, but he needs money _yesterday_. If he can find a way to buy the property, he’ll then have time to figure out the rest. Once the property is theirs, the immediate pressure will be off, and that’s all he wants right now. Just a little more time.

He picks up his pace while he thinks of Gabriel and all that Gabriel has done for him. Hell, he basically raised him, got him through high school, college, then law school. And after all the support Gabriel has given him in every aspect of his life, he asked Castiel for one thing. Just one, lousy thing, and Castiel couldn’t manage to see it through. But what hangs in the back of his mind like dirty laundry is the thought that maybe missing the meeting wasn’t an accident. That maybe Gabriel was right, and it really was “passive aggressive fucked up shit.” It's not a secret that Castiel likes Rocket Beach, the Café, and their quiet, tidy little lives the way they are. It's not a secret that Castiel is no harbinger of change. And after speaking with Rufus, Castiel realizes how selfish his “no change” thinking has been.

The possibility that some part of him purposely did this to Gabriel galvanizes him. All may not be lost because there is one person he can go to who has access to that kind of money. One person who can make a six hundred twenty-five thousand dollar loan happen with a single phone call. He doesn’t want to contact him, doesn’t want to see him ever again, but he has to fix what he has broken, not just with the business, but with his brother.

Castiel was taught by his mother to pray as a child, and although he would describe his relationship with God as complicated, it is a practice so ingrained in him that he has abandoned all efforts to let go of it. He prays silently for a sign; something, anything that will tell him that he is doing the right thing. Then he stops in his tracks, turns around, and heads back to where he came from.

______________________________

 

Still breathing heavily from his run, Castiel pulls his sweat-soaked shirt off and looks over the items strewn across the top of his dresser. The letter from Michael lies where he dropped it a week ago, folded and unopened. He carefully rips one end open, then pulls out the paper. He recognizes the firm letterhead before he even unfolds it. He expects it to be another apology, or even a veiled threat. With Michael, it was always one extreme or the other. But he is not at all prepared for the four words penned across the page in his former boss’s meticulous handwriting:

_I found your father_

Castiel claps his hand to his mouth to silence the gasp. He stares at the paper for what feels like a very long time before he drops it, picks up his phone, and calls Michael.


	11. There's a joke here somewhere and it's on me

Castiel cannot sleep.

Understandable, after the day – after the week he has had. Even the long, hot shower that followed his phone call with Michael did not help him to relax. He wishes there was a switch he could flip, a way he could turn his mind off, or at least slow it down to a more manageable pace. But there isn’t, so he does the next best thing and turns on the TV.

Flicking through the channels makes him think of Dean and he realizes that television will now forever be a link to him in his mind. To Dean, who he will never see again in real life. Dean, who made good on their bet, and then some; who climbed a tree with him without batting an eye; who smelled like soap and kissed like a rock star. Well, at least how Castiel imagines a rock star would kiss - with gentle fervor and clear intent. Castiel closes his eyes and thinks about Dean while his hand finds its way into his sweatpants. This wasn’t his original plan, but it’s not a bad one, as he can think of no better method of relieving his well-deserved tension. He pushes his head back into his pillow, closes his fist around himself, and settles in with his memories. He pictures Dean on the beach, biting his bottom lip and tightening his grip on Castiel’s hair as he comes, his bare feet digging into the sand. Then Dean again, in his bed, his green eyes wide, cheeks flush with want as he rests between Castiel’s legs, ready to return the favor. Dean, on his knees…

He jumps when he hears his phone signal a new text message. He wants to ignore it but he can’t. It could be Gabriel, or even Jo, and at two in the morning, it must be something important.

He abandons his attempt at self-release and picks up the phone. A number he does not recognize flashes across the screen, and just as he begins to curse the idiot who has chosen the most inopportune moment in time for a misdial, he reads the message and suspects he knows who it is from.

_“Don't tell people what you are thinking, or you will miss them terribly when you are away.”_

It’s Salinger. A quote from _Catcher_   _in_ _the_ _Rye_. There is only one person with whom he has shared a Salinger moment. He has no idea, though, how he would have his phone number.

He texts back immediately: _Who is this?_

He waits for a response but does not get one. He types again. _Dean?_

He watches his phone, willing it to ring or buzz or play the samba, whatever the hell that noise is that it makes when he gets a text message, but it doesn’t. He tries something else. He answers the Salinger quote with another Salinger quote.

_“I'm a kind of paranoiac in reverse. I suspect people of plotting to make me happy.”_

It works. Minutes later, he receives another text from the same number: _“I hate actors. They never act like people. They just think they do.”_

Salinger again, and a reference to actors. It _is_ Dean. Before Castiel can respond, there is a follow up. _“I don't exactly know what I mean by that, but I mean it.”_

It is odd, he has to admit, somewhat strange to communicate through the words of a reclusive American writer. He reluctantly questions whether he should communicate with Dean at all, but, he reasons, sending and receiving quotes is hardly the same thing as talking or texting directly. They’re not _his_ words, or Dean’s for that matter, so they are removed from them, insulated from their significance, safe from their meaning. No one can get hurt this way.

Yeah. Right.

He laughs aloud at his own bullshit, then chooses his next quote carefully.

_“I have so much I want to tell you, and nowhere to begin.”_

Once he sends it, he lies flat on his back, clutching the phone against his chest so that he can feel when it vibrates, and he waits. Castiel smiles. He is going to have to brush up on his Salinger.


	12. I forget when words were only words

**Three years ago**

One upside to Castiel’s sexual non-preference is that when he swears off one gender, he still has options. That is how he found himself, two long weeks after his break-up with Grace, at an exclusive men’s club called The Office, sitting at the circular bar in the middle of the room, drinking alone and seeking out his very first one-night stand.

True to its name, the place looked very much like a hodgepodge of professionally decorated office spaces. Castiel found it an interesting concept, and but for the fact that the patrons were nearly all men, most of whom wore suits, there was nothing that would suggest that this was anything other than a trendy, upscale lounge. Except, perhaps, for the shirtless, bow-tied, and particularly well-formed male waiters and bartenders.

Looking around the bar, Castiel had wondered how many of these men were married, or had girlfriends. At the bar entrance, there was a large sign that read “Discretion is the Better Part of Valor,” another smaller one below it said “But Honey, I _am_ at The Office.” This club seemed to encourage confidentiality and infidelity, and while Castiel could understand and respect the first one, he could not abide the second. Regardless of what happened here tonight, he would not come back.

Castiel had always been private and reserved by nature, but he made little if any effort to conceal his sexuality. He was comfortable with it, thanks mostly to his mother Anna. He recalls the first time he had a crush at age six. It was on a boy in his class at school, and when he told his mother about it, she smiled and said, “well isn’t he a lucky boy.” It was not until several years later that he learned he was different; that he was not considered to be the norm, and that boys more often than not did not like other boys. It would be easier for everyone if he would just “keep it to himself,” he was advised by various teachers and school administrators, and he didn’t understand why. “Well that’s just their problem, not yours,” Gabriel would tell him, but at school, it very much became Castiel’s problem. It was almost a blessing when they started moving around and changing schools so often, because Castiel refused to keep it to himself.

He did not spend long at the bar alone. Castiel was twenty-seven at the time and didn’t quite look it. Younger than most of The Office crowd, which appeared to be largely well-dressed businessmen over thirty. He didn’t mind. He wasn’t looking for a relationship, at least not one that would last longer than two or three hours. He just wanted a little refresher course in man sex. It had definitely been a while since he had been with a man, but he wasn’t desperate, and after he turned down three “can I buy you a drinks” and two less subtle “how about we get out of heres”, he was ready to give up.

Enter Michael. Tall, dark, and handsome in a non-cliché way. He was older, by at least ten years, probably more, but Castiel was attracted to him instantly. And when he perched on the barstool beside Castiel and asked, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” Castiel laughed.

“You look like you’re new to this,” Michael said, and after Castiel nodded, he continued. “This is how it works. We introduce ourselves. We don’t use our real names. We chat for a while. If we like each other, we go find a hotel. If we don’t, we move on.”

It sounded perfect.

Castiel then held out his hand. “I’m Jimmy.”

“John,” Michael said, shaking Castiel’s hand for longer than normal business practice allows.

When they left together a couple hours later, Michael paid the bar bill, but Castiel insisted on paying for the hotel. He enjoyed his night with Michael; it was exactly what he had been hoping for. Castiel stayed longer than originally planned, even shared a room service breakfast with him in the morning. When Michael asked if he would see him again at the club, Castiel answered with a polite yet candid “no”, and they parted ways for good.

Or so he thought.

A month and a half after Grace, Castiel started a job at the largest law firm in North Florida. He was six weeks into his new associate position when he was introduced to Michael Christiansen, one of the firm’s most valuable clients, who owned a multi-million dollar commercial construction business with extensive litigation, corporate, and tax law needs. Castiel recognized “John” immediately, and could tell that Michael recognized him too, but he followed Michael’s lead and shook his hand as though he had just met him for the first time.

Thirty minutes later, as Castiel exited a stall in the twelfth floor men’s restroom, he was grabbed from behind and shoved up against the wall, his cheek pushed against the marble tile, his arms behind him, bent at the elbows, both wrists held in place by large, powerful hands.

He was disoriented for several moments, the breath knocked out of him by the impact, then shocked when he realized who it was pressed up against his back. His face was no more than an inch away from Castiel’s. “Who knows?” Michael growled into his ear.

“No one,” Castiel wheezed, catching his breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Michael abruptly let go and backed away, adjusted his tie, then turned around and left the restroom.

When he came in to work the next day, Castiel found five dozen red roses in a vase on his desk.

“Somebody’s made quite an impression,” his secretary Hannah hummed. “That’s Waterford, you know.”

“Waterford?”

“The vase. It’s Waterford crystal. They’re not from that paralegal on the third floor, are they? I’ve seen how she looks at you.”

Castiel opened the miniature envelope that accompanied the flowers and read the card silently.

_There are no words to express how utterly and truly sorry I am._   
_Have dinner with me and allow me to explain. Please._   
_I will send a car to pick you up at seven._

_-M-_

He was unsure of what he should do. The man in the bathroom could not be the same man he spent the night with. Yet he was. Even worse, he was an important, big money client of the firm, he was friends with his new bosses, and Castiel had just been assigned as part of his legal team. Castiel carried no seniority at this job, was nothing more than a first year associate. He was as expendable as they come. If this job didn’t work out, it would be a huge smudge on his resume, and he would end up back with his brother and grandfather at the Café. As much as he liked the idea of going back to Rocket Beach, there was no future for him there, and he didn’t go to law school for three years to serve food. He had no choice but to talk to Michael.  Maybe, just maybe, Michael had a valid explanation for what happened.

“No. They’re not from her,” Castiel told Hannah, and slipped the envelope into his suit’s inside pocket.

He went to dinner. Months later he would wish that he hadn’t.

______________________________

 

Castiel looks down at his buzzing phone and smiles when he sees the word “Hunter” on the screen. Another text from Dean. Castiel assigned the moniker to Dean’s number in his phone, in homage to Dean’s television personality. It’s six a.m. in Florida, but it’s three in the morning where Dean is. He swipes his phone to view the message.

_“I’m not going to bed after all. Somebody around here hath murdered sleep. Good for him.”_

Castiel smiles. Even though they are not Dean's words, knowing that Dean has selected them, typed them into the phone and sent them to him is enough to make his pulse take a sprint every time he hears his phone alert him to a new message.  He wishes he could spend all day with the phone, exchanging Salinger quotes with Dean, but he can’t. The first thing on today’s agenda, once he gets to the Café, is to talk with his brother. After that, he will see Michael.


	13. I've seen all good people turn their heads each day, so satisfied I'm on my way

For the first time since Dean Winchester left, Castiel is in a good mood. When he arrives at the Café just before daybreak, Gabriel is already there, slicing the potatoes for home fries, preparing for the day as he does every morning.

Castiel rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “Gabe, can we talk?”

Gabe looks up from his task and offers a weak smile. “Yeah, Cas. I’ve been wanting to talk to you too.” He leaves his chef’s knife on the cutting board and shuffles out from behind the prep table toward Castiel. “Is everything okay with you? I mean, did something happen that…last week?  Jo told me that you weren’t alone the night before the meeting.”

Gabriel is concerned about _him_ , despite what he has done. Castiel swallows the knot working its way up the back of his throat. “I wasn’t. And I’m all right, Gabe.”

Gabriel raises one eyebrow. “So I shouldn’t be worried?”

“Not about me, no.”

“Good.” Gabriel nods, then steps forward and wraps his arms tightly around Castiel, squeezes him. “I’ve been a real douche dick to you, Cas, and I’m sorry. You know you’re my baby brother, right? That’s never gonna change. Nothing that happens ever changes that.”

Castiel hugs him back. He wonders why he ever hesitated returning to Rocket Beach and the family business, why he ever thought there was something better for him somewhere else. His niggling doubts about the restaurant and Gabriel’s plans for it are gone. He loves the Cafe. He loves working with his brother every day. He loves making muffins. They are going to expand this business that they both love and turn it into the hot spot that Gabriel has always dreamed it could be. And they are going to do it together.

“Douche dick?” Castiel asks when they separate.

Gabriel laughs. “Really? _You’re_ mocking _me_? This from the guy who calls people assbutts? You got something better, Bucko?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Point taken. Listen, Gabe, about the plans…”

Gabriel waves him off with emphatic hand gestures. “Forget it. It wasn’t meant to be. It was gonna be a real pain in the ass anyway, so you probably just did me a favor.” He’s not making eye contact, and Castiel knows that he doesn’t really mean a word of what he is saying, that he is only saying it for Castiel’s sake.

“I’ve been thinking about it, Cas, and maybe you had the right idea. Keep it small and comfortable. Keep it just us. And if we want a little change-up, we can redo the menu. Or come up with an awesome house special like we were talking about when…”

“I found a backer.” Castiel interrupts his brother because he can’t bear to let him go on.

“What?” Gabriel looks up at him, mouth hanging open, eyes sharp and bright with hope.

“I have backers. Investors. It’s basically a done deal. I’m just going to drop off those drawings you had done. They want to take a look.”

Gabriel’s face suddenly drops and he palms his forehead. “Aww, shit, fuck, dammit.”

“I think you missed one.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“There you go.” Castiel grins.

Gabriel shakes his head. “You don't understand.  It’s too late Cas. I didn’t tell you, because I was pissed at you, but it’s too late. Shit. Dammit. The property is being sold to someone else. Some other business.”

“I know. Rufus told me, so I spoke to Pamela. We have until tomorrow on our right of first refusal.”

“Rufus? Well God bless his kibitzing heart.” Gabriel starts to smile again, then stops. “Wait. Pam was here already. She came by and asked me and I told her no. So I’ve already refused.”

“And now you’ve un-refused.  I don’t know exactly how, but she’s finagling it for us."  Castiel plants his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. "This is going to happen, Gabe. I promise.”

“How did you do all this?”

“I told you I’d fix it. I meant it.”

Gabe slaps his hand onto Castiel’s extended forearm and holds onto it. “Of course you did. Man, I’m sorry, Cas. I really thought you didn’t want to.”

Castiel nods. “I think you were right in a way. That maybe part of me didn’t want to, the part of me that is afraid of change. But I know for certain now that I do want this. I really, really want us to do this.”

Gabriel hauls Castiel into another embrace. “I’m so proud of you, man,” he says as he releases him. “So tell me about these investors. Who are they? Do I know them? Don’t I have to meet them?”

Castiel casually turns around and starts gathering the ingredients for the muffins. “No. No one you know. No one from around here.” He feels his upper lip jerk in response to his lie, and once it does, he safely turns back around. “I’m going to have to ask you to trust me on this one. Just for now.”

Gabriel nods. “Okie dokie, artichokie. I’ll leave it in your obviously pampered and well-manicured but very capable hands, baby bro.”

Gabriel winks at Castiel and Castiel huffs, offers a one-sided smile and a nod. “You won’t be sorry, Gabe.”

______________________________

 

After spending several hours at Pamela Barnes’ office carefully going over the contracts and disclosures and legal documents that will eventually be signed, filed, and recorded, Castiel drives northwest to Orlando to meet with Michael. Michael had offered to come to Rocket Beach since he already had business in Orlando, but Castiel refused. It was going to be difficult enough to tell Gabriel that Michael was the one helping them out. If Gabriel knew about this, he would never let it happen.

His body tells him that he is anxious. His mouth is dry, his neck muscles twitchy, and his stomach is doing that familiar, queasy thing it does whenever he thinks about what happened in Jacksonville.

When he arrives at the chosen restaurant he manages to overcome his instinct to flee and finds Michael inside, wearing jeans and a button down shirt without a tie. It relaxes Castiel a little to see him dressed as casually as Castiel is. He wasn’t expecting it, and it reminds him that not every memory he has of Michael is bad.  But what Castiel finds most interesting is that Michael seems nervous too.

It goes well. They engage in some very small talk about sports and weather.  They look over the menu, but Castiel has no appetite and orders only coffee. Michael does the same, and he drinks it while he looks over the architect’s drawings and specs that Castiel has brought along with him. Castiel uses his tablet to show him some 3D renderings of what Rogue Wave Café is now and what it shall become upon completion of the project.

This is Michael’s area of expertise. He nods here and there, asks Castiel questions, then rolls the oversized pages up and slides them back into the tube.

“It looks good, Castiel.” Michael doesn’t like nicknames. He always called Castiel by his full name. “The plans are well thought out.”

“Gabe handled all of that. That’s his hard work, his vision on those papers.” Castiel takes a sip of his coffee. He feels himself getting hungry and realizes that is probably a good sign.

“The money has all been wired to where it needs to be. The mortgage will be held by one of my companies. Is that satisfactory?”

Castiel nods. “I can’t thank you enough for this Michael. I plan to pay you back soon. I’m considering this a bridge loan.”

“Well it’s not written that way.There's no prepayment penalty, you can do as you wish, but there's no urgency. It’s not necessarily a bad investment on my part.” Michael shrugs. “Or you can go the other way. I can lend you the rest of the money.  Help you out with the construction. My firm has all the resources you will need.”

Gabriel would kill him. It’s one thing to have one of Michael’s companies finance a property purchase, another thing completely to bring him into the fold on the entire project. Besides, the renovation and expansion of a small-town café with a budget of just over a million is like a bucket of sand on the beach to Michael’s commercial construction business. “I know this is more favor than investment, Michael. And I do appreciate it.”

“I told you I would make it up to you, Castiel. Perhaps you would consider this to be atonement. After two years of…"  He stops mid sentence, pauses.  "I would like very much to count you amongst my friends, Castiel.”

“How’s Naomi?” Everything was going well, and Castiel knows once he asks the question that he shouldn’t have.

Michael clears his throat and straightens in his seat. “She left me. Took the kids. They’re all in Connecticut now.. We are in the process of what has proven to be an exceedingly hostile divorce. I thought you knew.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No. I didn’t know.”

“Does that make a difference to you?” Michael asks.

“Michael, it’s none of my business. Please, let’s not…”

“I’ve been talking to someone,” Michael cuts him off. “A doctor. I have medication now that helps me with the stress of the business, with my tension. I’ve been working on delegating. Letting things go. I no longer feel the need to control every situation.”

“Controlling _situations_ was never the problem.”

Michael sighs, then nods. “Believe what you will, Castiel, but I certainly was never able to control the one thing I wanted to.”

Castiel looks down at his folded hands on the table. This could go south rather quickly, he thinks, so he clamps his mouth shut and scolds himself for even bringing up the topic, for mentioning Naomi.

“I’m sorry.” Michael finally says. “I’ve been working on that too. What’s done is done, yes?”

“Yes.” Castiel breathes out, relieved.

“You may not want to see it, but I’ve changed, Castiel.”

“So have I.”

“Yes. I think you have,” Michael agrees. “Everything will be signed within the hour.”

“No changes?”

“No changes,” Michael assures him, and Castiel is glad. Michael has not asked for any amendments or special provisions. The contracts were mostly standard, but Castiel had scoured over them anyway not only to make sure they were fair for both parties, but because he does not trust Michael. In Castiel’s experience, some of Michael’s business practices, as well as personal practices, were questionable, skirting the lines of ethics and legality. Castiel could take a hit himself, if something went wrong, but he had to make sure that Gabriel and the business were protected. Then again, maybe it was unnecessary caution.  Michael seems different.  Calmer, even complaisant.  Maybe he actually has changed.

“Thank you, Michael,” Castiel says and he means it. “Like I said, I really do appreciate what you’re doing for Gabe and me.”

Michael smiles. “Good, good. I was hoping you would feel that way. And now for the non-business portion of this little reunion.” He offers Castiel the manila envelope that was lying on the seat beside him by sliding it across the table. “Here. It’s all in there.”

Wordless, Castiel looks down at the envelope lying in front of him. He knows what is in it, but he waits for him to explain further.

“You can look it over at your leisure. Name, address, photographs - there’s a complete history in there for you. The information is yours to do what you want with it.”

“How do you know this man is my father?”

“Well, he looks like you, for one thing. But after the investigation focused on him, paternity was determined through DNA. The results are in there as well.” He nods toward the package that Castiel is now tapping with the fingers of one hand.

“How did you get DNA?”

“It’s not hard. People drop things, toss them out without a single thought of what they are leaving behind. All it takes is a cigarette butt, an empty water bottle. And of course, I already had your DNA. It was all over my condo.”

Castiel does not miss the not-so-subtle reminder.

“Why?” Castiel asks. “Why would you do this for me?”

Michael creases his brow, looks at Castiel as if he has asked the most absurd question ever. “I will always want to do things for you, Castiel.”

______________________________

 

As soon as he gets into his car he pulls out his phone and reads a text from Dean.

_“When you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write "Fuck you" right under your nose.”_

Castiel laughs. The Salinger quotes he has memorized are limited, so he browses a list he has made of ones he likes. _“Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first one who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior,"_ he types into his phone, sends it, then sets it down in the empty passenger seat of his truck, and drives back to Rocket Beach.

______________________________

 

On his way home, Gabriel calls him to tell him that since he had to cancel dinner at Hester’s, they have planned an after hours dessert celebration at the Café. When Castiel arrives, everyone is already there and outside on the patio. Hester, Gabriel, Jo, and the new server, Rachel, who sits next to Gabriel and is looking at him like he hangs the moon. It’s dusk now, and Gabriel gets up, flips the switch on the nearby column, and the strings of lights that criss-cross the patio diagonally all turn on. Gabriel meets him at the gate and swings it open.

“And here is the man of the day.” He slaps Castiel heartily on the back. “My little brother. Here’s to you man.” Gabriel grabs a bottle of beer from the table and raises it, then takes a swig. “Pam called. Everything is a go. The lot next door is ours.”

Gabriel’s enthusiasm is all Castiel needs to know that he has done the right thing. He wants to tell Gabriel about Michael; about the loan and his father, but he will have to do that tomorrow. Tonight, there is a party.

He grabs a beer from the bucket on the ground by the table and drags his chair between Hester and Jo. Besides beer, there is chocolate cake, apple pie, and cans of whipped cream on the table. Castiel gives Hester a hug and thanks her for coming.

“What did you do, Liebling?” she says softly to him so no one else can hear. “Nothing you will regret, I hope?”

He sometimes thinks Hester can read minds. She always seems to know. Castiel shakes his head. “No. It’s all going to work out, Hester. Wait and see.”

She smiles and pinches his cheek.

“Cake or pie?” Jo is up on her knees in her chair, poised over the table, knife in hand.

Castiel is starving. “Both?” he says, but he is distracted by the sight across from him of Rachel feeding Gabriel whipped cream from the can.

Jo hands him a plate and he leans into her, gestures with his head towards Gabriel and Rachel. _How long?_ he mouths, doesn’t actually say the words. She understands him and tries to whisper back, but too many beers make it impossible.

“Since day one,” she says. “It’s cute, right?”

“Hey, hey, kiddies, you talking about us?” Gabriel throws some pie across the table at them. “You’re really one to talk, Casanova.”

“That’s right,” Jo shrills. “Last week! Who was the lucky one last week?”

Castiel shoots Jo a dirty look. Jo really should not drink.

“I was,” Castiel says. “I was the lucky one, JoJo.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Jo extends a wobbly accusatory arm and points at him. “I had to make muffins, Cas. And it wasn’t pretty. Ask Rufus. Ask anyone who came in that day.”

Gabriel nods emphatically “She’s right. It was ugly. Rufus called them ‘tuffins.’ Said they could have used them to knock snipers out of trees in ‘Nam.”

Castiel laughs, shakes his head.

“Come on lover boy. We need a name. We deserve a name.” Gabriel finishes up his beer and Rachel immediately hands him a new one. “Oh, thanks hon,” he says to her, then tips his bottle at Castiel. “Who exactly were you with last Wednesday, besides Hester?”

Hester smiles. “Are you talking about Dean?” she asks Gabriel. “We had a lovely dinner with Dean, didn’t we Liebling?”

Castiel freezes.

“Dean? Okay, so we’ve got a name. Dean who, baby bro?” Gabriel goads. “Come on. Share with the class.”

“Such a handsome boy,” Hester adds.

“No!” Jo shrieks and her eyes go wide. “He asked me about you. Twice. I knew it! I just knew it! I thought I was losing my touch, but now it makes sense.”

“We’re not talking about the Winchester, are we? Mr. Hollywood?” Gabriel makes a face. “Nah. No way, Jose. Cas couldn’t stand him. He’s a one-percenter, and Cas hates money now so he doesn’t do one-percenters anymore. Right, Cas?”

“I don’t hate money,” Castiel interjects. "Money and I have just had a little bit of a falling out.”

“I think Dean is a lovely young man,” Hester says. “Polite. Sincere. Funny. And he’s very smitten with our Castiel.”

“Who are we talking about?” Rachel asks, confused.

“Dean Winchester!” Jo puts both hands on her hips. “Cas, did you do the thing with Dean Winchester? Please tell me you did the thing with Dean Winchester.”

Suddenly everyone is silent and still, all eyes on Castiel. Even Hester watches him expectantly. Castiel chugs his beer to buy some time, hoping they will get tired of waiting for an answer and move on. They don’t.

“Before I say anything,” Castiel begins, “there is the small matter of discretion that I would like to discuss first.”

“Aww.” “Come on.” “You’re kidding, right?” Rachel, Gabriel and Jo all complain to him at the same time.

Castiel holds out his hands to placate them. “I helped him get out of jail…”

“Jail?” Gabriel smirks, brings the bottle to his mouth and pauses. “I knew I liked that boy.”

“Bobby arrested him for drinking on the beach. And some other stuff. Anyway, he was very drunk, so he stayed at my house…”

“What? He stayed over?” Jo is going to make it difficult to get through this story.

“Yes he did. On the couch.”

“Oh, damn,” Jo pokes out her bottom lip, disappointed.

“When did you bring him to Hester’s then?” Gabriel asks.

“The next day.”

“You were with him all day?” Rachel chimes in.

“And night,” Jo says. “Because that is when you texted me. Late Wednesday night.”

“Look, he’s not public about these things.”

“You mean he doesn’t want anyone to know he likes men,” Jo mutters.

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” Rachel asks. “Lisa something. That actress?  You know who I’m talking about. Do you think she knows he’s gay?”

Jo shakes her head. “They broke up weeks ago. He’s been dating women for years, so he’s probably bi, not gay, Rachel.” Jo rolls her eyes at Rachel’s naivete.

“Anyway, I doubt I will ever see him again, so I’d really like it to just stay between us. Can you guys do that? Please?”

They all nod, mumbling assurances of “yes” and “of course,” and “no problem.”

Everyone except Hester that is, who takes Castiel’s hand and says “Oh he’ll be back Liebling. He’ll be back.”

“We are the very soul of discretion baby brother.” Gabriel raises his beer bottle in the air and calls for a toast. “To my brother, my business partner, and my best friend. I love you, bro.”

Castiel is not sure if it is the beer or the food or the company that makes him feel warm and gushy inside, downright joyous. “Yeah, me too, Gabe.”

He wishes he could share this happiness with Dean, then realizes that he can.  He pulls out his phone and sends Dean a three-word message.  _  
_

_I miss you._


	14. The world’s a roller coaster, and I am not strapped in

Missing Dean is an awful thing. Castiel doesn’t understand how he can feel his absence so keenly after such a short time, or why it only seemed to worsen once he admitted it to Dean via text. He hates it, hates how he checks his phone every few minutes, hates how he hasn’t yet washed the clothes Dean borrowed, or the pillowcase he slept on. He hates how foolish it makes him feel to long for someone who left him by choice rather than circumstance.

After his euphoria induced direct text to Dean was not immediately answered, Castiel was concerned that he had crossed a line that Dean was not ready or willing to cross. His worries were allayed by mid-morning the following day when he received a return message.

_What is today’s muffin?_

Castiel replied that today’s muffin was raspberry with white chocolate chips, and then he waited. He waited and waited and waited for a text that did not come. Until the next morning, at approximately the same time, when he received the same message. _What is today’s muffin?_ Castiel answered that it was chunky apple with cinnamon sugar, and he once again did not hear back from Dean until the next morning.

It went on that way for days. Every morning Dean asked what the muffin of the day was, and Castiel responded.

But today, when Dean asks what the muffin of the day is and Castiel tells him that it is blueberry, he receives two messages back, one immediately after the other.

_I miss your muffins._

_And you._

Castiel types back _you know where to find them when you want them_ and hits send before he can think too much about the implications of what he has said.

 _The muffins or you?_ Dean asks after thirty minutes.

Castiel answers without delay. _Both._

______________________________

 

Castiel waits for Dean’s mid-morning muffin of the day text, but it never comes, and he hates that the fact that he has not heard from Dean is the only thing he can think about. He is distracted. He mixes up some orders and forgets others, and late in the afternoon, during the early bird dinner rush, he walks right into Jo, causing the three plates she was very skillfully carrying with only two hands to fall crashing to the ground. Gabriel grabs Castiel by the arm and drags him into the kitchen.

“Dude, what is going on in that eternally anguished noggin of yours?” Gabriel asks.

Castiel leans back against the prep table and looks down at his feet. “Nothing. I’ve just had a lot on my mind. About the project, and things.”

“What things?”

Castiel shrugs. “Stupid things, Gabe. Nothing important.”

“Is it Michael?”

Castiel’s head shoots up, his eyes narrowed. “Michael? No. Not Michael at all. Why would you say that?”

He has every intention of telling Gabriel about his meeting with Michael last week, about the fact that Michael is the backer he found for the purchase of the property, but he hasn’t quite gotten around to it yet. The timing just never seems right, and luckily, Gabriel never asks. Anyway, Gabriel is pretty busy these days with Rachel. Between the expansion and his new girl, Gabriel is as happy as Castiel has seen him in a very long time, and Castiel does not want to be the one to put any type of damper on that.

“Because of that letter you got a couple weeks ago. Did you…?”

“Open it? Yes, yes I did."  Castiel says.  "It said he found my father.”

Eyes wide, Gabriel pulls his head back.  His mouth falls open.  “Shitballs! Are you kidding me? Jesus motherfuckin’ christ, I didn’t know you were looking for your dad, Cas.”

“I wasn’t. I’m not," he answers honestly. "He gave me all of the information I need, but I haven’t looked at it. I don’t know if I even want to.”

Gabriel nods with empathy. “I feel ya brother. I don’t know what I would do if I were in your position. You should’ve come to me, though, man. We could’ve been dealing with this together.”

“I know,” Castiel says. “You’re right.”

“No wonder you’re walking around here like a zombie.”

Castiel says nothing. Gabriel thinks he just opened the letter, that he just found out about his father and that that is what Castiel’s problem is today. It’s not true, of course, but Castiel will not correct him.

“And for the record,” Gabriel adds, “I don’t trust Bob the Builder and the rest of that bag of dicks you worked for up in Jax, so maybe we should talk about this information he sent you before you do anything, you think?”

Castiel breathes deeply and nods. “Yes. We should. I would like that.”

Gabriel pats Castiel on the shoulder. “But for now, why don’t you get the hell out of here. Go take a walk. Hit the beach. Get your toes wet.”

Gabriel is right. The beach is exactly what Castiel needs right now. Gabriel nods and winks at him as he leaves the Café.

______________________________

 

When Castiel returns from the beach, he is in a completely different headspace. He is wet from the hips down, so he strips and takes a long, cool shower. While at the beach, Castiel manufactured a multitude of reasons for Dean’s lack of response, his favorite being that Dean is somehow trapped in a cave with no phone signal. Although he assigns it little to no probability, it is indeed, possible. But even if Dean’s silence is as intentional as it feels, coming right after Castiel’s open invitation to him, that is Dean’s choice to make. And if that’s the case, Castiel will wash his hands of this Dean thing once and for all.

But he really, really hopes that Dean is trapped in a cave.

He turns on the television and starts watching _The Unnatural_. He picks up where he had left off while watching with Dean. It will take many weeks to get through all of these episodes, but he wants to catch up so he can watch the new season in the fall. He had promised Dean that he would watch the show and judge it for himself. It’s a promise he would like to keep.

Castiel starts to doze after four episodes. He yawns and spots his tablet on the coffee table. If Dean has been trapped in a cave, or something equally isolating, it would be all over the internet. Castiel promised Dean he would not google him, but he made no such promise regarding other search engines. It’s a technicality, of course; he is a lawyer, after all, and it’s with a semi-clear conscience that he picks up his tablet, types Dean’s name into the little box on top of the page, and hits the search button.

He is not prepared for the quantity or variety of what pops up on his screen. The page is full of headlines and thumbnails of photographs. He’s not sure where to start.

His phone vibrates and plays the first few bars of Led Zeppelin’s _Kashmir_ , his new default ring tone for all purposes, since he has always been confused by the various sounds his phone made. One good one is all he needs.  He grabs his phone and reads.

_“Goddam money. It always ends up making you blue as hell.”_

A quote. Castiel shakes his head. He thought they were past this. A second message comes in while he is reading the first.

_“I just hope that one day - preferably when we’re both blind drunk - we can talk about it.”_

Salinger again. Although Castiel is happy to hear from Dean, he is disappointed that he is using quotes again, and vaguely ominous ones at that. Castiel decides to respond with humor.

_I thought you were the victim of a horrific spelunking accident._

Dean’s answer comes moments later.

_“I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life.”_

Castiel squints at his phone screen, as if more words are somehow hidden within the quote he can see. He is perplexed, and worried. He looks back at his tablet. Something may have happened to Dean, something that affects his career, something that might explain these messages. He starts from the top of the list displayed on his tablet, clicking on the headlines and photos, looking for a clue. It is the fourth headline from the top, once opened, that puts everything into perspective.

“Actor Lisa Braeden announces her engagement to _The Unnatural_ star Dean Winchester.” Castiel reads the headline again because he must be mistaken. Dean is engaged? Was engaged? Has been engaged? He doesn’t know which, so he checks and finds today's date on the article.  He doesn't read any more of it, because it doesn’t matter. It's not a mistake, and his jaw clenches as he tries to swallow the pain in the back of his throat. He clutches his phone tightly in his palm as he taps out what will be his last communication with Dean.

_Yes. You are._

______________________________

 

Dean texted him several times after that, asking for permission to call him, to explain things to him. He even called, once, but Castiel did not answer. After an hour of listening to _Kashmir_  begin to play over and over, Castiel blocked Dean’s number so he would not get the texts or the calls. It is a wise decision, he thinks, because the only way he will be able to not answer those calls and texts is to never know about them in the first place.

He slept, but not well, and he is tired, morose, when he arrives at the Café in the morning. Gabriel is sympathetic, he gives Castiel his space, and Castiel feels somewhat guilty that Gabriel has no idea that Castiel’s crankiness is Dean related and not Dad related.

He makes the muffins. Castiel goes through the motions, slowly and carefully. He doesn’t want a repeat of yesterday. He cancels dinner with Hester. He wants to sulk alone and has no desire to either talk about it or inflict his mood on anyone else, especially not his beloved Hester. He’ll be fine in a few days.

It takes three days for Rachel to make a comment about Dean Winchester’s engagement. Jo and Gabriel have not heard about it, and Castiel shrugs with one shoulder when she mentions it, as if it was expected and of no matter to him.

Gabriel and Jo, however, put two and two together rather quickly after that, and they talk to Castiel privately when business lulls just before closing.

“Hey, bro, I had no idea you really, uhm, liked him like that."

Castiel sighs. “Yeah, well, I was never very good at one-night stands.”

Jo is hugging him and she refuses to let go. “He’s nothing but an assbutt, Cas. A selfish, thoughtless, rich, uh, what do you call them?”

“One Percenters,” Castiel says.

“Yeah. He’s one of those. And they suck, right?”

Castiel can’t help but grin at his brother and his friend. “Yes, JoJo, they suck.”

“But we do not suck.” Gabriel reveals an unopened bottle of Maker’s Mark. “So tonight, we drink whisky. The fancy shit. And by that I mean whisky without the ‘e’ little brother. No more holing up in the bungalow with a book and a muffin, pining for some asshole that doesn’t recognize the best thing he’ll never have. Fuck him.”

Castiel smiles. Gabriel opens the bottle and pours the bourbon into tumblers, one for each of them, including Rachel, who has finished cleaning up the patio and joins them.

Jo raises her glass. “Fuck Dean Winchester.”

“Fuckity Fuck him,” Gabriel says.

Rachel raises her glass. “To fucking Dean Winchester!”

Jo and Gabriel look at Rachel.

“Oh, no. No, no hon, that’s not…” Gabriel starts, but he stops when he hears Castiel and he looks over to see that he is shaking, his entire body trembling, bent over in loud, raucous, laughter, and within moments they are all laughing, snorting, and swallowing whisky like it’s water.

Castiel takes a few deep breaths, raises his glass once the laughter finally dies down. And he has no idea how cathartic his next words will be, or how much he actually means them, until he says them out loud.

“Fuck Dean Winchester.”

______________________________

 

“Who’s that?” Jo comes up behind Castiel and points out the unfamiliar man who has helped himself to a seat on the outside patio and is awkwardly looking around the restaurant.

“I can’t think straight,” Castiel says. “Too much whisky.”

Jo sticks out her bottom lip. “That was like four days ago, Cas.”

“I think it’s still seeping through my pores, though. I’ve never been good at drinking,” he smirks. “Though I try.”

She snaps her fingers in Castiel’s face. “Earth to Cas. Come on, look at him.” She grabs Castiel’s face by the jaw and points it toward the man. “He’s not our usual customer. He’s not a baby surfer, and he’s not a senior citizen.”

“Then he is clearly some sort of nefarious being.”

“Does that mean hot? Because all I see is hot.”

Castiel looks at Jo sideways, then shakes his head. “No, not everything means hot. And yes, he is hot, but no, that’s not what ‘nefarious’ means.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means he is likely a burglar scoping the place out. We should call Bobby right away.”

“Really?” Jo squeaks, and she sounds somewhat delighted at the idea of having a criminal in their midst.

“I’m messing with you, Jo,” Castiel laughs. “He’s at my table. Do you want to take him?”

Jo twists her mouth up, then shakes her head. “I’d better not. He’s, like, inhumanly hot, Cas. You should have first shot at him, cause, you know, it might make you feel better.”

“That’s not necessary,” Castiel says. “I’m fine. And not remotely interested.”

“Give it a go. If I get near him, I’ll just try to climb him like a spider monkey,” Jo says. “My ovaries are literally twitching right now.” She pushes Castiel toward the table where the very tall, very toned young man sits. “Flirt a little.”

Castiel crosses his arms. “No. I’m done with men.”

Jo rolls her eyes. “Okay then, do it for me. We’ll double-team him. You give him a giant, undeserved helping of your snark, and then once you’ve got him all worked up, I’ll swoop in with all the sympathy and kindness for the kill. Sound good?”

Castiel sighs. That he can do.  For Jo. “All right. For you. But you owe me,” he calls back to her as he ambles over to the table with a menu in one hand and his pad and pencil in the other.

“Welcome to the Rogue Wave. Can I get you something to drink while you look at the menu?”

The man accepts the menu Castiel offers. “Thanks. Have you, uh, worked here long?”

Castiel nods. “Depends on what you consider long. My brother and I own the place. Why do you ask?”

The man clears his throat and adjusts his almost too long legs. “Oh good, good. Then maybe you can, uh, help me. Is there a woman who works here named Angel?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No.”

“Did she used to work here?”

“Nope. No one named Angel here. Ever.”

The man squeezes his brows together as if he is confused. “Are you, uh sure?”

Castiel huffs, slightly annoyed. “Yes, I’m sure. I would know if we had an employee named Angel.”

The man nods. “Of course you would. Sorry, it’s just, I’m kinda desperate.”

“To find someone you don’t even know?”

The man drops his chin. “Yeah. I know it seems weird, but…” he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out what looks like paper, and unfolds it. Castiel recognizes it immediately. It is a take away bag from the Café.

“This is from here, right?”

Castiel nods. “It is.”

“What’s your name?” he asks Castiel.

“Cas.”

“I’m Sam. Can I tell you a little story, Cas?” He gestures toward the seat across the table from him, and Castiel sits down.

“My big brother,” he begins. “He's in this sort of relationship I guess, an engagement.  Kind of an arranged thing.”

Castiel makes a face. “Like an arranged marriage? Is he a prince? Some kind of royalty?”

Sam chuckles. “Sometimes he’s kind of a princess.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “I don’t undertand.”

“I’m kidding,” Sam explains. “He’s not technically royalty, but sometimes it seems like it, the way his freedom is curtailed and…”

“I’m not following you. Is there a point to this?” Castiel asks.

“Sorry,” Sam says. “Anyway, it’s not a real engagement, but I think this chick he’s like, in love with I think, believes it’s real.”

Castiel’s mind begins to whirl. He looks at the bag in Sam’s hand, tries to piece it all together.

Sam continues.  “And I know she has something to do with this place, because he came home with this bag, this empty, dirty, to go bag, and he won’t get rid of it. He takes it with him when he travels. When he finds out it's gone he's probably going to freak out.”

“Oh,” Castiel says.

“And that’s not normal, right? To be so attached to a paper bag? So I figure, it has to do with this Angel person.”

He's talking about Dean. He's Dean’s brother Sam. Tall, fit, handsome, and smart. Just as Dean described him. It has to be him. But it still doesn't make sense.

Castiel looks up at Sam. “He loves this person?” he asks. “Are you sure?”

Sam tilts his head and looks back at Castiel, and after a moment his lip curls up and he nods. “Yes. I’m certain that he does.”

“I see,” Castiel says as he stands. “Well, I’m sorry. But there are no women here named Angel.”

“Could be a man,” Sam says quickly before Castiel turns away. “My brother, he’s, well. It could be a man. I got the name from his phone. I just assumed and I’m…I’m saying, it could be a man.”

Castiel holds his arms out to his side and backs away, shaking his head. He wants to get out of there.  Now.  “Wish I could help you. I do. But there’s no one here named Angel. Male or female.”

Castiel turns his back to Sam and stops to exhale the breath he'd been holding. Jo runs over to him, and as she gets to him, the sound of Zeppelin’s _Kashmir_ comes from Castiel’s phone in his pocket. He pulls it out, but he does not recognize the number. He turns around and looks at Sam, who is smiling at him and holding up his own phone for Castiel to see.

“Gotcha,” Sam says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story. Kashmir has been my phone ringtone forever, and one day at the office a young man heard it and asked me if I was a P. Diddy fan. I asked him why he would think that and he said because of my phone ringtone. He said it was from a song P. Diddy made for the movie Godzilla. I nearly died, and had to set that boy straight about Zeppelin and Kashmir.


	15. If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break

It’s a typical Florida summer day. The sun and the tide are both high while the sky is clear and as blue as the crayon that bears its name.  Castiel perches on the edge of the top step of the battered-wood staircase, studying the miles and miles of ocean laid out before him.  When he hears approaching footsteps, he plucks his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and puts them on.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

Castiel does not have to look to know it is Sam Winchester who is standing behind him.  Castiel all but ran away from the Café after Sam called his cell phone, but that was well over an hour ago.  He’s had some time to take in what Dean’s brother said to him on the patio, to think about what it means. He shakes his head once and moves to the side to allow room for Sam to squat down beside him.  They sit in silence for several minutes before Sam speaks.

“It’s really beautiful here,” he says. “I like the way it’s big, but it’s small.”

Castiel turns his head and looks at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s the ocean, which is like, huge and endless, but somehow it feels kind of intimate.”

He’s right.  Sam’s been in Rocket Beach for what can only be hours, and he has already managed to suss out precisely what is so special about Castiel’s hometown.  Everything Dean told him about Sam is true.  Castiel looks back at the water.  “So what gave me away?” he asks.

Sam leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees. “I had no idea when I came here. Like I said, I was looking for a woman.  But then you looked at me, and you asked me if he loved her. That’s when I knew.  That’s when I saw it.  It was all right there, in your eyes.”

Of course.  Castiel should have known.  The eyes are the give away. The eyes will reveal and betray and get you into a whole shit ton of trouble if you’re not careful. “Who told you I was at the beach?”

“Your brother.  Gabriel.  He seems like a really good guy, a good brother.  I was a little scared of him at first, though, to be honest.  He’s very protective of you.  He reminds me a bit of Dean in that way.”

Castiel grunts.  “Well, if he told you where I was, he’s also a traitor.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he wouldn’t tell me until he and your pretty friend Jo fed me.  And by the way, she’s also like a frigging guard dog where you’re concerned.  Which was actually kind of awesome.  Anyway, they made me eat a full meal and proceeded to grill me relentlessly. I know they did it to give you some time to yourself, but I’ve gotta say, I didn’t mind it at all. Plus I just ate what was probably the best muffin I have ever had in my whole life.”

Castiel grins.  “That’s what was in Dean’s take away bag.  Muffins.”

“From your restaurant?”

Castiel shakes his head.  “No.  I made them at...” Castiel shuts his mouth, pinches his lips together tightly. He really doesn’t want to discuss his time with Dean, especially not with Dean’s brother.

“Okay, then.” Sam slaps his open hands on his thighs. “Listen, Cas, I’m sorry for just, you know, showing up here. But my brother?  He means the world to me, and I can’t let him just…” Sam stops and abandons that line of thought then faces Castiel.  “You don’t have to tell me anything.   You don’t even have to say a word, but please, hear me out.  Let me tell you some things that might make some difference to you. Things that might help you understand.”

Castiel shrugs.  “I’m not going anywhere right now.”

Sam nods.  “Okay, Good.  I don’t know if you already know, but Dean practically raised me.  He _did_ raise me.  We lost our mother when I was a baby and he was four.  It did something to our dad, something dark, and even though he was still alive, we lost him too.   At least in all the ways that matter.   So Dean took over.  But he was just a little kid, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says.  “About your mother.  And your father.”

“Thanks. First, you should know that Dean didn’t have it easy when we were kids.  Or growing up.  And even though Dean makes his living now as an actor, he’s been acting all of his life. Acting like nothing was wrong when dad was drunk, or gone for weeks, or when we had no food or money. Acting like _he_ was my parent, like I was _his_ responsibility, acting like…”

“Like you were circus acrobats?”  Castiel pipes in.

Sam snickers.  “Yeah.  He told you about that?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, okay.  He never talks about that.  He’s never told anyone about that.”  Sam clamps his hands together and grins quickly, briefly at Castiel. “So then you know how that turned out.”

“Yes.”

“I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that Dean _still_ doesn’t have it easy.  People always think that he does, because he’s good-looking, because he’s a celebrity, because he has money now, but I think that’s all just made it worse for him. I know it has.”

Castiel nods.

“And he puts on a front, this pretense of confidence and certainty, and…other things.”

“That’s not who I met,” Castiel says.  "That's not who I know."

“Yeah.”  Sam pushes his longish brown hair behind his ears.  “And I think I always knew he was bisexual.  When we were younger, I was sure that he was, but it’s not something we’ve ever talked about.  When he became successful, I didn’t see it anymore. He didn’t really have many relationships at all, said he was too busy, but I only saw him date women, so I figured I had been wrong.  But it was always there in the back of my mind.”  Sam stretches his legs out in front of him.  “That’s why even though I was surprised that you were Angel, I wasn’t really surprised.”

“And?”

“Are you asking me how I feel about that?” Sam raises his eyebrows. “I love my brother, and I want him happy.  Whether it’s with a man or a woman makes no difference to me.  We should take happiness where we can find it, right?”

“So you would be supportive of him? If he ever…”

“I would be more than supportive.  He would probably hate how over-the-top supportive I would be.”

“I take it he doesn’t know you’re here.”

Sam rolls his eyes.  “Oh god, no.  He would shoot me.  When he finds out, he is going to murder me.  I’m sure you’ll read about it.”

Castiel tightens his lips, suppresses a laugh.  “So exactly why are you here, Sam?  Is Dean engaged to be married or not?”

“About that.  He is.  But I'm saying it’s not what he wants.”

“But it was his choice?”

“Well, yeah, I suppose so.  But not…”

“Then by definition, it _is_ what he wants.”

“He loves _you_ , Cas.”

“I would like to believe you, I would. But he has chosen to the contrary.”

“Technically, yes. But I’m sure that it’s nothing more than some publicity thing that has gotten out of hand.  They have an arrangement and…”

Sam’s last words cut into him, scraping across the surface of a wound he had thought was long healed.  He can’t hold back the flood of anger that consumes him. “An arrangement? They have an arrangement? That’s it?  That’s the explanation that’s going to somehow make a difference?  That’s what you want me to understand?  What exactly did you expect from me?  That I would go along with it?  Is that why you’re here? He marries her but screws me and that’s perfectly fine because they have a fucking arrangement?”

“No. No, no, no.”  Sam holds up his hands in an attempt to placate. “You’re angry. I get it, but…”

“No, I really don’t think you _do_ get it.“

“Look, all I know is that a few weeks ago he comes back from his vacation with Lisa and suddenly they’re engaged, but he’s acting all weird and conflicted, so I ask him…”

“They got engaged a few weeks ago?” Castiel cuts Sam off.

“Yeah.  They were on vacation in Palm Beach I think.  I’m not sure.  They didn’t announce it right away, because they didn’t even have a ring yet. It was like it was a business transaction the way it was handled. I finally got him to admit that there was someone else.  Someone who had enlightened him, he said.  That’s the exact word he used.  Someone who could be life-changing for him.  Now I know what he meant by that.”

“So when he was here, he was with _her?_ ” Castiel asks Sam. 

Sam looks confused.  “Well, no, not _here_. I’m almost positive they were in Palm Beach.”

“He was here with her,” Castiel mutters to himself, shaking his head.  “He was here with her when I, when we…” He says no more because he feels sick.  A sudden, twisting ache takes root deep in his belly. He wraps his arms around his cramping midsection and pushes himself up from the step.                                

“Oh, fuck me,” Sam mumbles apologetically, as if he has just figured something out.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t put it all together.  I’m sorry. I’m…”

Castiel walks away from Sam without another word.

 ______________________________

  

**Fourteen months ago**

 

Castiel lay still beneath him, pressed into the smooth, Egyptian cotton sheets.  He was not sure how he ended up here, again, except that they had a very successful day, he was very drunk, and the man on top of him was very skilled under the covers. He laughed at himself, at how little it took to convince him these days, at how easy he had become in too many ways.  Somewhere along the crazy ride that his life had become, he’d been corrupted, so much so that sometimes he did not recognize any part of himself when he looked in the mirror. He should reassess, contemplate how he got there.  But his eyelids were heavy, his skin tingled from the thirty-year old scotch, and Michael was running his tongue down his back and between the cheeks of his buttocks. It all felt too good to stop now merely on principle. 

It was then that he heard the woman scream. It frightened him in its intensity, and it took him several moments to realize what it was; who it was.

“A _man_?’ The woman spat out the words with pure disgust.  “You’re having sex with a _man_?”

Michael rolled off and away from him. Anger flashed across his face before he sat up on the side of the bed. “Naomi,” he said calmly while he slid into his underwear.  “This is my condo. You know exactly why I have this place.  You shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” Naomi screeched.  “I never knew about this!  About _men_?”

Michael got up and went to her, but she tried to push him away.

“Michael?” she cried.  “Are you a homosexual?”

Michael pulled her into his arms. “No, no, no darling. If I were would I be married to you?  Now would I?”

She shook her head and sobbed.  “No.”

“Of course not.  This has never happened before.  I had too much scotch, and I think, perhaps, something was slipped into my drink.”

“You mean, like a roofie?”

“Yes.  It’s the only possible explanation.” 

“Yes,” she agreed, calmer now. “Oh my goodness, Michael this is horrible.”  She shoved her face into his chest and he pet her hair, kissed the top of her head and said “Shhhh.”

“You came just in time, my love.  Nothing has happened.  You must believe me.”

Michael was a practiced manipulator, and Castiel was always awed when watching him work.  But this was different.  This was disturbing in more ways than Castiel could name. 

Naomi nodded as Michael brushed the tears from her cheeks. "I do.  Of course I do."

“Good.  Now go to the house.  I'll take care of this.  Wait for me in our home.  I promise I will be there shortly.”

Castiel pushed his face into the pillow because he could not watch any more of it.  He heard a door slam, then felt Michael’s hand slip under the sheet, his palm spread open across Castiel’s backside.  “Now where were we?” 

Suddenly sober, Castiel opened his eyes and jerked away from him.  “You have got to be kidding me.”  Castiel was breathless, still shaken by Michael’s wife’s intrusion.  “That was your wife?  That was your wife!  You are fucking married Michael!  You’re _still_ married you lying, fucking, bastard!”  Castiel jumped up in the bed, his eyes darted around the room, searching the floor for the pieces of his twenty-five hundred dollar Armani suit.

“You are so naïve, Castiel.”  Michael smiled smugly, his face inches from Castiel’s. “It’s perfectly fine.  We have an arrangement.”

Castiel lurched out of the bed, started toward the bathroom when Michael grabbed his arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m done.”  Castiel said.  “With all of this.  I don’t even know what to call it, but I’m done.”

“Well, I’m _not_ done.”

“Let go of my arm,” Castiel demanded through clenched teeth.

Michael glared at him, then released him.  “You’re going to regret this.  After all that I’ve done for you?  What I’ve made of you?”

“What _you’ve_ made of me?”  Castiel started to protest, then choked back the rest of whatever words he was going to say when he realized that Michael was right.  His job, his success, his money, all of it was because of Michael, orchestrated by Michael.  He had become what Michael wanted him to be.  He gathered his clothes and quickly threw on his pants and shirt, while Michael paced the room.  He carried the jacket over his arm and held his shoes in his hands because he couldn’t find his socks. He was not going to stay and look for them.

Michael stepped in front of Castiel as he made his way toward the front door.  “If you walk out of that door, Castiel, it will be career suicide for you. You will become nothing.”

“God, I hope you’re right,” Castiel said as he left and closed the door gently, willingly, behind him.

 ______________________________

 

Castiel is jolted from his thoughts by the sound of car doors slamming.  His eyes swivel around the room. He kicks at the empty tequila bottle, knocks it off of the coffee table because it is mocking him.  It was all but empty from his day on the island, and provided him with no relief whatsoever when he finally got home tonight. 

He ponders the predicament he finds himself in now. There is no other alcohol in the house, and he’s restless and liquorless, the cruelest of combinations. He must stay awake, keep his eyes open, because when they are closed he has no control over what he sees.

He grabs the television remote and tries to turn it on, but the batteries are dead and it doesn’t work.  He draws his arm back, ready to fling it at the TV, but his attack is staved off by a loud knock on the door.

“Cas?  Little bro?”

He barely has a chance to look over in the general direction of his opening front door before he sees Gabriel and someone else come inside.

Castiel flips on the lamp by the sofa and squints at the two figures.  He’s been sitting in the dark for a while, and it takes his eyes a few seconds to adjust, but once they do, he can tell that something is wrong.  Something is terribly wrong.

“What is it?” Castiel drops the remote in his hand onto the table and stands.  “Bobby, what’s happened?  Why are you here?”

“Well, son, there ain’t no easy way to say this…” Bobby starts.

“Gabe?  Why is he here?”

Gabriel’s chin drops to his chest as Bobby continues. “It’s Hester,” Bobby says.  “She’s had a heart attack.”

“Is she all right?”  Castiel recognizes how foolish his question is once it is asked. He already knows the answer.

Bobby frowns.  “No.  No son, she’s not.”

 ______________________________

 

Castiel hates hospitals. He’s never had to spend much time in one, fortunately, but the last time he was here was when his grandfather died nearly three years ago. 

He sits slumped in the chair by Hester’s bed, where he has been throughout the night. Hospital personnel come and go. They tell him how lucky he is to have a chance to say goodbye, how he should not give up since miracles happen every day.  The words are meant to be kind or encouraging, but they only serve to confirm that there really is no hope.  She is all but gone to them, hooked up to machines that will keep her breathing until her stepson, Victor Jr., arrives and allows them to disconnect her.

Gabriel left several hours ago to open the Café, and the sack of food Jo brought for him sits untouched on the floor. He is thirsty, though, and would like to get a book to read to Hester, just in case she can hear him, just in case they are all wrong about her.  He leans forward and squeezes Hester’s limp hand, then gets up and steps outside of the room.

He takes several aimless strides down the hall before he looks up and he sees him, standing still at the other end of the long corridor. Castiel stops, paralyzed.

“Cas,” Dean calls to him.  “Cas.  I’m here.”


	16. Take the long way home

There is a part of Castiel, the part that is pounding in his chest and leaving him breathless, that wants to run to Dean, to crash into him and break him into little pieces that he can then help Dean put back where they belong. The other part of him remembers what Dean has done.

Dean rushes down the hall toward him, hastening his pace with each step until he is nearly running. 

Castiel remains frozen in place.  When Dean closes in, his arms stretch out wide and Castiel notices a glisten in his eyes before they shut as he embraces Castiel.  His hands press against the width of Castiel’s back, pulling him closer.

Castiel’s entire body tenses.  Dean must feel it, the rigidity of his muscles, the stiffness of his arms hanging straight at his side.  But Dean does not let go. 

“How is she?”  Dean asks.

Castiel closes his hands, squeezes his fingers tightly into fists. He does not answer, will not answer until Dean releases him. His fingernails pinch the skin of his palms and Castiel wonders if he is drawing blood when Dean suddenly drops his arms and frees him.  Dean takes a long step backwards.

“I’m sorry,” Dean mumbles.  “Cas, I’m so…”

“She’s dying,” Castiel says evenly, in answer to Dean’s question.  Dean looks different. The growth on his face indicates that he hasn’t shaved since Castiel last saw him. He is paler, his features are somber. Even though he is clearly upset by Hester’s illness and has managed to be here for her before her own stepson, Castiel has no desire to be gentle.  “Why are you here, Dean?”

Dean blinks several times before he looks away, down at the floor, then back at Cas.  “I didn’t realize, I mean, I didn’t think about it, it didn’t….”

“You didn’t think about what?”

“It never occurred to me not to come.  And I’m sorry.  I should have called you first and checked with you, made sure it was okay. I’ll go, if you want.”

“All right.”

“You want me to go?”

Castiel hesitates.  “Yes. I think…yes.”

Dean glances at the door to Hester’s room.  “Okay, Cas.”

“But not right away,” Castiel says.  “Hester likes you very much.  You should talk to her before you leave."

Dean takes a deep breath of relief.  “Thanks, Cas.” 

“Go on in,” Castiel nods toward the room.  “She’s alone.  I’m going to go find a vending machine and get a drink.”

Dean nods.  “Okay, yeah, good.”

“All right.”  Castiel steps aside and continues down the hall, fighting the urge to look back to see if Dean is watching him.  There is a lounge around the corner, and he looks around for a book, something he can read to Hester, but finds nothing.  He sinks some change into the machine, enough for two bottles of water, then takes a long, slow walk around the new cardiac wing of the hospital before heading back toward Hester’s room.

When Castiel returns to the room, he hears Dean’s voice.  He is talking to Hester, telling her that she was right, that she didn’t have to go to such extremes to get out of their date, that he has brought along a bottle of Riesling they can pop open as soon as she is feeling up to it.  Castiel stands in the doorway and clears his throat. 

“Oh, hey Cas,” Dean says. 

Castiel goes into the room, holds up a bottle of water, offering it to Dean.

“Thanks.” Dean accepts it, twists the top off and takes a long sip. Castiel watches him drink like he is parched, as if he has just traveled across the country throughout the night to be here.  Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Sam called me.”

“What?” Castiel averts his eyes when he is caught staring.

“You’re wondering how I knew.  How I got here so fast.  Sam called me. He told me what he’s been up to. And I guess he’s been hanging out at the Café with Jo.”

“Oh.”

They stand again in silence while Dean finishes his bottle of water and crushes the plastic in his hand then tosses it into a nearby trash bin.

“I do appreciate your coming,” Castiel says.  “It means a lot to her, I’m sure, that you came all this way for her.”

“I wanted to be here.”  Dean tucks his hands into his pockets.  “I thought maybe I was…I hoped I was needed.”    

“Well, as you can see, she’s in a coma, and she doesn’t really need--”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Oh. Castiel takes his seat in the visitor’s chair by Hester’s bed, his arms folded across his chest. After several minutes of silence, Dean sighs loudly.

“Look, if you want me to go, I’ll go.”

“You said that.”

“But I’m not leaving town right away.”

“What?”

“You heard me.  And I’d really like to talk to you while I’m here.”

Castiel scoots his chair closer to Hester.  “I need a book.” He tries to say it stoicly, without intonation, but fails, his voice cracking on the last words. ”I need a book, Dean.”

“What book?”

“Just a book.  Any book. A story I can read to Hester.”

“Okay then.  I’ll go find a book, Cas,” Dean says.  “If that’s okay. Will you let me do that for you?”

Castiel nods without looking at Dean.  “Yes.  Please. I need a book.”

 ______________________________

 

**Fifteen years ago**

“You’re the boy from the Café.”

Startled, Castiel clutched his open paperback to his chest with one hand and grabbed hold of a tree limb with the other hand to keep from falling. He was caught. He had climbed both the fence and the tree to get to this spot, but it was a place that did not belong to him. He was living in Rocket Beach again now, working with Gabe and his grandfather in the restaurant after school and on weekends.  Here in the tree was his only chance to be alone, blanketed by earth, sky, and water.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel called down to Victor Henriksen’s wife. “I used to come here when I was little.  With my mom. A long, long time ago. Before your house was here. I’m not a criminal. I promise.”  He was worried he might be in trouble. He was sure what he had done was against the law.  But the woman did not look or sound at all upset or angry.  She actually seemed to be happy to see him.

She smiled up at him and waved.  “How’s the view up there?”

Castiel looked around. “It’s great. I can see the ocean and the river. There's a little island over there in the river.  It looks pretty cool.” He pointed toward it for her sake.  If he had a boat, he would be in that river, maybe even on that small island he can see from the tree. He decided he was going to save his tip money and one day buy a boat, then go to that island and claim it.

“Magnificent! What else can you see?”

“I can see the bridge to the mainland.  And I can see two, no three dolphins.”

“I will have to get up there one day soon and see for myself.”

“You’ll probably need a ladder,” Castiel pointed out sensibly. “It’s getting a little tough even for me to get up here.  The tree’s a lot bigger than it used to be.  And it was easier when I had a boost from Gabe.  Gabe’s my big brother.”

Castiel started to come down, but the woman shook her head.  “No, stay up there.  I think the tree enjoys your company.”  She rubbed her open hand affectionately across the rough bark of the trunk.  “It’s not like other trees, and although it’s quite content by itself, it gets a little lonely, I think.”

Castiel laughed aloud at the absurdity of that. 

“I’m Hester.”

“I’m Castiel.”

“That’s a beautiful name, Liebling.”

“Thank you.”  Castiel looked down at Hester.  He didn’t know much about her, just what he had heard from talk in the Café.  He knew she was pretty and nice.  He knew she used to perform in a water ski show at Cypress Gardens.  He knew that Victor Henriksen would do anything for her.

“Please, continue to read your book,” Hester said.  “And have a wonderful day.”  She waved at him once more as she walked away, returning to her house.

Castiel came back days later, the first chance he had between school and his busboy work.  He jumped the fence and when he got to the tree, he found a note attached to it:

_Thank you for watching out for this tree._

_Please come as often as you like._

_Hester and Victor_

 

As he pulled it off, he noticed several rectangular blocks of wood nailed onto the tree in a manner that created footholds for climbing; a ladder of sorts.

He folded the note, put it carefully into his pocket, and climbed easily up the tree. 

 ______________________________

 

Dean is not gone long.  He returns with a bag and two cups of coffee.  He hands one cup to Castiel. 

“Double creamer, raw sugar, dash of cinnamon.”

That’s how Castiel likes it.  Exactly how he likes it.  But he has no idea how Dean knows.  “How did you…?”

“You had coffee at your house.  The last morning I was there.”

“You were still in bed when I made my coffee.”

“Not your second cup.”

Castiel pinches his lips together, drops his head and reaches into the bag Dean brought him, then pauses and looks at Dean. 

“Please tell me this is not Salinger.”

Dean gets on his knees on the floor beside Cas, sits back on his legs. “Nah, I don’t need his words anymore,” he says.  “From now on, when we talk, it’s you and me.  Our words.  Deal?”

Dean is so close.  Too close. Dean rests his elbow on the padded arm of Castiel’s chair and Castiel’s skin reacts against his will with tiny bumps that surface along the length of his forearms.  He grabs hold of the book in the bag and takes it out. He frowns, disappointed when he sees the title.

“ _Little Women_?”

“Yeah,” Dean says defensively.  “It’s a classic.”

“You want me to read _Little Women_ to Hester?”

Dean shrugs.  “Sure. Why not?  She’ll like it.  In fact, she’s probably already read it.  And Hester kinda reminds me of Jo March.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows.  “Dean, have you read _Little Women_?”

Dean’s effort at feigned shock is half-hearted at best.  “What?  No! Maybe.”

“ _Maybe_ you’ve read _Little Women_?”

“Okay, yes.  I have. Don’t judge.”

Dean moves to a chair on the other side of Hester’s bed and sits facing Castiel, watching, waiting for Castiel to start.  

Castiel’s lips faintly curl up as he opens the book and begins to read. “’Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,’ grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.  ‘It’s so dreadful to be poor!’ sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress.”   He looks up at Dean and shakes his head slowly. “Really?”

Dean motions for him to continue. “Go on.  It gets better.  You’re doing great, Cas.”

 ______________________________

 

Castiel does not remember falling asleep but apparently he has. He is being nudged, gently shaken awake.

“Hey, Cas.  Wake up.”

It’s Dean.  Castiel lifts his head up and opens his eyes.  Besides Dean, Gabriel is there, along with Rufus, Bobby, Jo and Sam Winchester.

“C’mon little brother.”  Gabriel stands behind him, hooks his arms under Castiel’s to help him up. “They’re about to kick us all out. Dean here is gonna take you home.”

Castiel is exhausted.  He yawns and nods because he has no energy to protest.  He squints his eyes for focus, looks at Hester for a few moments, then leans over and kisses her cheek. 

“No change?’  he asks Gabriel.

“No.” Gabriel pats his brother on the back.  “And Victor can’t get here until some time tomorrow.”

Castiel sighs, thanks his brother while he hugs him goodbye, and leaves the hospital with Dean.

“I rented a car,” Dean explains when they get to the parking lot. It’s an SUV, and once they are inside it, Castiel feels wide awake, edgy.

Dean puts the key in the ignition but waits to start it. “Look, Cas, I’m really sorry about Hester,” he says.  “And everything else.  I know there’s no reason for…”

“I don’t want to go home,” Castiel states loudly in order to get Dean to stop talking.  He doesn’t look at Dean.  Instead he stares at nothing straight ahead of him.

“No?’ Dean says.  “That’s okay.  Do you want to get some food?  Are you hungry?”

Castiel shakes his head.  “No. I’m not hungry.”

“Still, you should eat.”

“I said no.”

“Okay then.”  Dean sits wordlessly next to him, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as if he is thinking. The tapping stops abruptly.

“How about the ninjas?”

“What?” Castiel is forced to look at Dean because he has no idea what he is talking about.

“We could try to find some turtles.  On the beach.”

Castiel knows what he should say.  Castiel knows what he should do, and that he should have done it hours ago. Unwanted warmth spreads through his body as the thumping in his chest grows stronger, faster and louder until it is so loud that he is sure that Dean can hear it.  He turns his face away from Dean. 

“All right,” he breathes out.

Dean starts the car.  “Ninja turtles it is.”            


	17. But from that very first look in your eyes, I knew you and I had but one heart

When the ocean spray sweeps his face and his lungs fill with briny air, Castiel is instantly soothed. He wants to sink his entire body into the sand. He wants to void his head of yesterdays and tomorrows and revel in the emptiness for a while. Just for a little while.

But that's not going to happen. Especially with Dean seated two steps above him at the bottom of the beach access stairs.

“I know I should have called first.” Dean shuffles his feet and leans on the edge of the step toward Castiel as far as he possibly can without tumbling forward.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Castiel tells him. “I blocked your number. I don’t get your calls. Or texts.”

“You blocked my number?” Dean sounds offended, and Castiel finds that in itself offensive. 

“You can’t possibly be surprised.”

“I thought you were just ignoring me.”

“I was.”

Dean sighs. “I sent you at least fifty texts. And probably half a dozen voice messages. Are you saying you didn’t get any of those?”

“Not a one.”

“So you know nothing about what happened.”

“I know enough. I know that you are engaged to be married to someone that the world wide web deems to be the ‘the luckiest woman alive.’”

“You googled me. Jesus, Cas, I asked you not to google me. This is exactly why.”

“I did not ‘google’ you. I used Safari. I safaried you.”

“Very funny.”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t actually read much, Dean. It really wasn’t all that interesting.” It doesn’t come off as indifferent as he had hoped, but his point is made.

“They never have the real story, Cas. I told you that.”

“Your brother filled me in on the rest.”

“Sam doesn’t know either.”

“He seemed to be well informed. He tried to explain your arrangement to me.”

“He tried to…my what?”

“And he told me about your vacation with Lisa three weeks ago, during which time you became engaged.”

Dean huffs loudly, drops his head.

“What? No denial on that one?”

Dean claps his hands together. His mouth opens and closes and Castiel knows that he is trying to choose his words carefully. Dean does not deserve that luxury, and Castiel is not in the mood for carefully constructed answers. He wants raw, simple truth. The kind you don't have to think about.

“I only want to know one thing, Dean,” Castiel says quietly.

“Sure. Anything, Cas.”

“Did you pop the question before or after we fucked?”

Dean shakes his head. “Cas, don’t. Please don’t…”

“Before or after?” Castiel insists.

“Cas…”

“Before or after, Dean?”

“After.” Dean spits out. “It was after.”

There is no good answer, but this is the one that he knew would gut him. He’s not exactly sure why, except that it makes him feel foolish, ridiculously pathetic, for ever entertaining the thought, for holding onto some remote, illogical possibility in the very back of his mind, that he could love Dean. That Dean could love him. The pressure builds quickly behind his eyes and he fights the burn. Castiel stands up, kicks off his shoes, and walks quickly toward the water.

“Cas, what are you doing?” Dean calls to him, then follows him, catches up to him. “Hey. Where are you going?”

“I’m going for a swim,” Castiel says and he pulls off his jeans without bothering to unbutton or unzip them and carelessly tosses them on the sand.

“In your skivvies?”

“Obviously.”

“It’s too dark, Cas. You can’t go out there. It’s dangerous. There are, you know, things in there.” Dean's eyes are wide and his voice shrill while he waves his arms erratically.

“I swam competitively in high school and college. I have been swimming in this very ocean with ‘things’ since I was sixteen years old. I assure you I will be fine.”

“I did not know that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Dean.”

“Yeah, but I want to. That’s the kind of stuff I want to know about you, Cas.”

“What stuff?”

“All of it. Everything.”

Castiel stands still in the water, not quite knee deep. When he turns around fully, Dean is standing on the edge of the wet sand, the surf pummeling his feet. Dean’s naked feet. Fuck. Castiel shakes his head slowly. “We can’t be friends Dean. I can’t do that.”

“I’m coming with you.” Dean unzips and removes his pants.

Castiel holds up his hand. “That’s not a good idea.”

“You can’t stop me. It’s a free ocean and I can swim in it if I want to.”

Castiel turns his back to Dean and treads deeper into the water.

“Although it would probably be better if I knew how to swim,” Dean yells to him.

Castiel turns around again and throws up his arms. “You can’t swim?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“I saw you swim on the show.”

“Stunt dude.”

“That’s absurd.”

“I agree.”

“You can’t swim, and yet you’ve stripped down to your – whatever you call those things you’re wearing- and you’re going to follow me into the ocean in the pitch dark?”

“Now that you say it out loud, it does not sound like a very well thought out plan.” Dean looks down at his smiley face boxer briefs. “And these were a gift from Sam.”

“What do you want Dean?”

“I’m not getting married. I’m not.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. It’s a long story. You have to let me tell you. Come out of the water, Cas, and let me tell you,” Dean begs.

“I don’t think it matters anymore, Dean.”

“How can you say…?” Dean pauses, and Castiel can see a shift in his stance, in his demeanor. His raises his head, straightens his back and shoulders. “I’m gonna bottom line-it for you. I could never marry Lisa, because I love you, Cas.”

“No,” Castiel says. “No, no, no, no.”

“Yes. I’m in love with you and everything else is crap. It’s all just background noise and crap and I don’t give a fuck about any of it anymore, Cas. I want to be with you.”

“No.” Castiel slides his hands into his hair and tugs.

“Yes.” Dean strides confidently toward him, splashing and kicking up sand along the way. “And you love me back. You love the shit out of me and it scares the shit out of you.”

“Shut up.” Castiel shakes his head and falls to his knees in the water. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”

“No. You’re going to hear this. You can’t just block me now, can you Cas? ‘Cause I’m right here.” Dean’s tone is sincere, ardent. “I know you’re scared because, yeah, it takes one to know one. I’m scared too. I am so fucking scared that I can’t think straight half the time. But I’m not scared of loving you, Cas. That’s not what keeps me awake at night.”

Dean reaches Castiel and drops down in the water in front of him. Gently, firmly, he places his hands over Castiel’s and forces Castiel to release his grip on his own hair. He holds Castiel’s hands in his, pulls them into his chest. “My greatest fear, what I’m most afraid of, is _not_ loving you.”

Castiel’s protective wall, the one forged of anger, bitterness and pain, crumbles as Dean’s arms encircle him, draw him in. Dean surrounds him, and he allows it. He wants it. He needs it. He hides his face in Dean’s shoulder in a last ditch effort to keep it all together, but when Dean’s hand slides up his back and rests on the nape of his neck, his thumb tracing circles in his hairline, Castiel collapses into him, and the relief of finally letting go, of unabashedly _feeling_ , washes through him, makes his body tremble and shake. Dean holds him tightly through it while they sway together, hip deep in the water, the waves and the current pushing and pulling them in different directions.

“How can I love you?” Castiel says. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Does it have to?” Dean brings one hand to Castiel’s face, and rubs away the wetness along his cheekbones. “Does everything have to make sense, Cas?”

Castiel used to think so, but right now, he thinks, maybe not. He starts to shake his head and as he does he sees movement on the beach behind them.

“Dean. Dean, we’re not alone,” he says.

“Huh?” Dean’s back is to the sand. He twists his neck around to look at whatever it is that Castiel is watching over his shoulder.

When Dean’s eyes grow big and shiny, when his entire face brightens with a smile that can only be described as childlike in its purity, Castiel can’t help but smile too.

“Holy ninja turtle.”

______________________________

 

Castiel can barely keep his eyes open. He sits quietly on the bed while Dean grabs some clean boxers from Castiel’s dresser drawer and hands them to him.

“Do you wear pajamas?” Dean asks, and Castiel shakes his head. “This is good,” he tells him and he strips off his wet clothes, pulls on the soft dry boxers, and falls back onto the bed.

“We can finish talking tomorrow,” he says, and Castiel moans in agreement and stretches out across the mattress. Dean pulls the blanket at the foot of the bed up and over Castiel.

“Are you tucking me in?” Castiel grins without opening his eyes.

“I am. Would you like a bedtime story or can I go straight to the goodnight kiss?”

Castiel opens his eyes and looks up at Dean. “No story,” he says.

Dean smiles and bends over him, brushes Castiel’s hair back from his forehead with one hand then places a kiss there.

“Sam has a hotel room across the bridge. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Castiel is grateful and disappointed about the chaste kiss, but he doesn’t have time to mull over the conflict because he is asleep before Dean has even left his room.

______________________________

 

Castiel hears noises coming from his kitchen. He gets out of bed, pulls on a t-shirt and gym shorts, and investigates.

It’s Dean. He's back, just as he said he would be.  Dean leans against the counter, opens a take away bag from the the Café.

“Well look who’s up.” Dean smiles and gestures for Castiel to sit.

Castiel yawns. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

“I slept for twelve hours?”

“That’s good. I’m told you needed it.”

Castiel’s brow raises, questioning.

“Gabe and Jo told me. And Sam was kind enough to deliver these sandwiches for us.”

“Where’s Sam now?”

“Yeah, you’re not going to believe this,” Dean chuckles. “He’s at the Café. Working. Or trying to anyway.”

Castiel grins. “Why is he doing that?”

“Well, he says it’s so you don’t have to worry about anything and we can talk and visit Hester, but I’m pretty sure it’s because of Jo. Hungry?”

Castiel nods. “So hungry.”

Dean takes a box out of the bag and sets it in front of Castiel.

“Lisa knows about you,” Dean starts.

“You told her?”

Dean shakes his head. “No. I didn’t have a chance to. She knew right away. I still don’t know how. I guess she had someone following me.”

“Would you have told her?”

“I wish I could say yes, Cas, but to be honest, I don’t think so. Telling her wouldn’t have meant telling just _her_. I hadn’t decided what I was going to do about how I felt about you. I knew it was something I was going to have to work through. I was trying to find a way to tell Sammy, and I did, eventually, in a way. I just never told him you were a man.”

“What were you doing in Rocket Beach?”

“Lisa and I, you should know that we did date for a while. Off and on for over two years. And even though some of it was pretty good, we were never in love. Neither one of us. We made some crappy horror movie together a few years back, and our managers thought it would be good for both of our careers if we were seen together. And it was. But it was just another acting job, for the most part.”

Castiel bites into his sandwich - turkey, bacon and avocado with pesto mayo – his favorite. Gabe is a great brother. He doesn’t ask any more questions, just lets Dean say what he has to say.

“Anyway, the payoff was better for me than her. The show was on the verge of being cancelled, and it suddenly started to become popular again. The execs all said it was because of the Lisa publicity, but I think it was more because of the new showrunner and bringing back the angel character. Whatever it was, it was like new life for the show in its eighth year. So it was big.”

Dean leans over the counter and rests on his elbows.

“I broke up with Lisa for good a couple months ago, but there was a charity event in Palm Beach that I had promised to attend with her, so I kept that promise. Only she thought it was more than what it was. She booked only one hotel room, with one bed. We had a fight, I left. I rented a car, drove up the coast, stopped at this awesome little Café across from the beach. Met you.”

“Where were you staying, Dean?”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, you kept asking, and the answer was nowhere. I was staying nowhere. I slept in the rental car the first night, and you know the rest.”

“You ordered two burgers.”

“I was hungry. Don’t judge.”

Dean picks up Castiel’s free hand, the one not holding the sandwich, and folds it into his. “The engagement thing was a huge mistake. I never should have let that happen. I panicked. She knew about you, threatened to out me, unless I went along with a fake engagement for a while. Six months of being seen together, taking her to all of the award shows and publicity events, and then we would break up.”

“And Sam has no idea?”

“He does now. I told him last night. Sam knew I didn’t love her, knew our relationship was almost entirely for publicity purposes, and I had hinted that the engagement was PR driven too, but he had no idea of the real reason, or just how fake it was. I couldn’t tell him. That was part of the deal.”

“She blackmailed you, Dean. There are laws…”

“I know how fucked up this all sounds, Cas, believe me, but I convinced myself I was doing it for you, so that you wouldn’t be hounded and harassed once the media found out. So that what you have here, with your brother, and Jo and the Café, and Hester, this quiet, peaceful way of life that I would kill for, wouldn’t be ruined because of me. But I recognize that I did it mostly for me. Because I wasn’t ready.”

“All right.” Castiel says lowly. “What happens now?”

Before Dean can answer, Castiel hears the familiar sounds of Led Zappelin and jumps up from his stool to get to his phone in his room. Dean waits for him in the kitchen, and he is making coffee when Castiel comes back out.

“Hester,” Castiel says, gasping, barely able to get the words out. “She’s awake. Hester’s awake!”


	18. I'm hanging by a moment here with you

Castiel is so eager to see Hester that he washes himself quickly with a wet cloth, throws on deodorant and clean clothes, and pushes Dean out the door.

Hester is propped up on her bed, a nurse with a clipboard by her side. The nurse holds up his hand when Castiel and Dean enter the room. “Stop right there.  Family only.”

“Excellent service in this hospital, right Hester? They’re looking out for you?” Dean immediately attempts to manage the situation with charm. “Well, hello…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Nurse,” the nurse says.

Hester smiles weakly when she sees them, and Nurse fusses at her when she tries to pull herself up in the bed, but Hester dismisses him with a wave.

“That’s my boy,” she tells him, and Nurse looks at them, then back at Hester.

“Which one?”

Both Hester and Dean look at Castiel. Dean clears his throat, and Castiel finally picks up on the deception. “It’s me,” Castiel steps forward. “I’m her boy.”

Nurse looks expectantly at Dean. “And you?”

“I’m with him.” Dean says.

Nurse shakes his head. “Unless you’re family, I have to ask you to leave.”

“I _am_ family.” Dean says each word slowly, as if trying them on for size. “Because _I_ am _his_ …partner.”

“Partner as in husband? You’re married?”

“Y-y-yessss.” Dean grabs Castiel’s hand. “I am that.”

“Cool,” Nurse says casually, then drops the clipboard into the pocket at the end of the bed. “I’ll be right out there,” he says, then smiles at Hester. “Just a buzzer away. Right sweetheart?”

Nurse gets as far as the door when he stops and looks back at Dean. “Anyone ever tell you that you look like that actor? Dean something?“

“Winchester? Yeah, I get that a lot,” Dean says with an evenness indicative of a well-practiced lie. “Personally I don’t see it. I’m much better looking.”

Nurse squints at him, then chuckles. “Yeah, I guess so,” he says, then leaves the room.

Castiel goes to Hester, releasing Dean’s hand but Dean grabs onto Castiel’s finger and grips tightly. He hates seeing her like this, fragile and pale; vulnerable, but he quickly blinks away the wetness in his eyes and smiles down at her. He wants to be strong for her as she has always been for him.

“I understand you’ve been reading to me,” she says to Castiel.

“Yes, _Little Women_ ,” Castiel says. “I remember how it was a comfort to me, so I hoped it would be the same for you.”

“ _Little Women_ is a favorite of mine,” Hester croons. “Ever since I was a child. Of course you would choose just the right book, Liebling.”

Castiel twists his mouth. “Well, it was actually Dean who…”

“Who bought the book.” Dean cuts Castiel off. “Cas told me what to get, and I went to the store and picked it up. He knew you’d love it.”

Castiel opens his mouth again, ready to explain to Hester that it was Dean who chose the book, Dean who knew that she would love it, but Dean lightly shakes his head, and Hester squeezes Castiel’s hand and looks at him with such affection that he says nothing.

“I told you he’d be back,” she says.

“Yes, you did. You were right about Dean.” Castiel glances at the grinning man beside him, the one who has two fingers wrapped around his one, and Castiel cannot think of a time when he was happier that she was right. He loves Hester, probably has since the day he met her from atop the old tree by the river, but most assuredly since the day his mother died, and it’s about time he told her.

”You know that I have always been so proud of you, son,” Hester says to him, then looks at Dean. “And you are a lucky young man, Dean Winchester.“

“What’s going on here?”

Castiel hears Victor Henriksen before he sees him. Victor enters the room swiftly with Nurse in tow. Dean releases Castiel’s finger, lowers his chin to his chest and steps back and away.

Nurse sighs loudly and shakes his head at Hester while he speaks. “I think maybe there has been some kind of mistake.”

______________________________

 

Even though they did not get to stay long, Castiel feels a certain renewed spirit. Hester is awake and on her way to recovery. Dean loves him and is right here next to him. These things are blessings, nothing less than tiny miracles to Castiel.

“What did you mean when you told Hester that reading aloud was a comfort to you?” Dean asks.

Castiel rests back against the passenger seat headrest. “When my mother died, when she took her own life, I was sixteen.”

“I’m so sorry, Cas.” Dean angles his body toward Castiel and slides his hand on top of his. “I didn’t know.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel locks his fingers with Dean’s. “It happened less than six months after Gabe came and took me away. When I found out, I ran away. Well, I ran to Hester’s because I didn’t quite understand things and I blamed Gabe for taking me away from her. I remember lying silently on a bed at Hester’s house, trying not to cry, and she came in and sat in a chair by the bed. She didn’t say a word, she just started to read to me. I remember it so clearly. _To Kill a Mockingbird._ Thinking back, I’m pretty sure that’s what made me want to become a lawyer. But it was the constant sound of her voice, just knowing she was there, that got me through that day.”

Dean brushes his open hand along Castiel’s jaw. “If it were up to me, you’d never be sad, Cas. Never.”

It’s the sincerity in Dean’s voice, the affection in Dean’s eyes that catch Castiel off guard. “Careful, Dean. I might just hold you to that.”

“You’ve got a deal,” Dean says, then leans forward and kisses Castiel. He moves his hand from Castiel’s jaw to behind his neck and pulls him closer.

Castiel offers no resistance. His lips part willingly against Dean’s lips, his tongue curls gently, solidly into Dean’s tongue. He closes his eyes and lets himself savor Dean, taste him. Dean is a good at this, he recalls that quite vividly, but this is something else, something more. This kiss is a proposition. This kiss is a glimpse of what they can become. What they _will_ become.

“Thank you,” Castiel says when the kiss ends. “For thinking about me. For caring enough about Hester, and about me, to come back.”

Dean smiles. “I really do love you,” he says. “I’m not sure you really get that yet.”

Castiel is unsure of what to say. Dean is right but he is also wrong. Castiel sits quietly beside Dean while Dean starts the car.

“I think this calls for some pie,” Dean announces, and they head back over the bridge to the barrier island that Castiel calls home.

______________________________

 

They get more than pie at the grocery store because, according to Dean, Castiel’s “food situation” is completely unacceptable. Castiel reminds Dean that he owns a restaurant and does not need to keep food at his house, but nevertheless they return to the bungalow with more than just pie.

Dean puts the food away while Castiel takes the shower that he has put off for much too long. After, he dries himself, puts on a pair of soft, well-worn sweatpants, and joins Dean on the couch to eat ice cream and pie and watch some more episodes of _The Unnatural._ Castiel is happily surprised when Dean hands him a bowl of ice cream as soon as he enters the room.

“Here ya go, Tarzan.” Dean blatantly eyes Castiel’s bare chest. “You wanted ice cream, right? I made you a sundae. I don’t have a cherry for you though."  Dean manages to sound lewd, dirty. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Castiel sinks into the couch and throws his feet up onto the coffee table while Dean takes charge of the remote.

“Are you sure you want to watch this again?”

“Yes, Dean. I definitely do.”

“Okay, then.” Dean presses the buttons that start the show where Castiel left off many days ago. “It’s going to take forever to get through them all, Cas.”

“Then so be it.”

“Did you just say ‘so be it?’”

“You heard me, Dean.”

Dean shoves a forkful of pie into his mouth. “Damn, Cas. The way you talk sometimes.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean,” Castiel teases. “My speech patterns are not unique. However, I can’t say the same about your vernacular.”

“My vernacular?” Dean raises his eyebrows, but he can’t keep from grinning. “You’re a little shit, you know that? I don’t have any idea what that means, but I’m pretty sure you know what it does to me when you talk like that.”

Castiel laughs. Dean makes a face, then loads his fork with whipped cream from his plate and flicks it at Castiel. It lands on his chest, and Castiel uses his finger to swipe it off of his skin and put it in his mouth.

Dean stares at him for a few moments, then swallows hard. “Jesus Christ, Cas.”

Castiel has no idea what Dean is upset about, or if he is actually upset at all. He pulls his brows together. “What is it, Dean?”

Dean does it again. He lobs more whipped cream at Castiel, which finds its mark on Castiel’s midsection.

In jest, Castiel makes a disapproving “tsk” sound, then reaches down but Dean grabs his arm and stops him.

Dean puts his plate on the coffee table and goes to his knees on the couch next to Castiel.

“Dean, what are you…?” Castiel starts, but when Dean stoops over him and laps the cream from Castiel’s belly with his broad, flattened tongue, he has his answer.

“Oh. _Oh_.”

Castiel holds his bowl of ice cream in one hand and the spoon in the other. He’s not sure if he should put the bowl down and wrap himself around Dean or push Dean away. He’s immobilized, held in place by his own indecision while Dean draws his tongue up and down, then across Castiel’s stomach.

Maybe Dean can read his mind, because he sits ups and takes the spoon and bowl out of Castiel’s hands. He fills the spoon with melting ice cream, holds it up over Castiel’s body, then tips it over.

“Oops,” Dean says, smearing the soft ice cream across the side of Castiel’s chest where it drips. He bows down and uses his mouth to clean the mess he has created. He tongues Castiel’s nipple; sucking and nibbling until Castiel’s head falls back against the top edge of the sofa.

“Dean,” Castiel finally manages to say, but nothing else. Dean throws his leg over Castiel’s thighs and straddles him, dips two fingers into the bowl to scoop out some of the melted sundae, then pushes his fingers past Castiel’s lips and into his not unwilling mouth.

Dean’s face is soft yet intent, his eyelids hang low over compelling green eyes, his mouth curves just barely upward. Castiel recognizes this face, has dreamt about nothing but this face for the last few weeks, and now he can’t take his eyes off of it.  Castiel closes his mouth around Dean’s fingers and sucks.

Dean slips off of Castiel’s lap and onto the floor between his legs. He lays an open palm on each of Castiel’s knees, then slides them along the length of his thighs, up and across his hips then down either side of Castiel’s swollen groin.

“Ah ha. There’s little Cas.” Dean’s smile is mischievous, playful.

Castiel fists the couch cushions beside him when Dean hooks one finger of each hand beneath the elastic. He looks up expectantly at Castiel through gloriously long lashes and asks “may I?”

Castiel exhales breath he'd been holding. He wants to say yes. Dean is watching him, waiting for him to say yes. But he can’t do it. He can’t get the one, simple word of assent past his lips.

“Cas?” Dean asks, brows pushed together in a striking combination of puzzlement and concern.

“No,” Castiel says carefully.

Dean blinks several times and sits back on his heels, his hands resting on Castiel’s knees. “What?”

“No,” Castiel repeats slowly. “I can’t.”

Dean pulls his hands away from Castiel, then smirks. “Is it because I called your dick ‘little Cas?’ ‘Cause what I really meant to say was mega Cas.”

Castiel’s smile is slight. “No, Dean.”

“Then what’s going on?”

“I think that’s precisely the question we have to answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have some things to sort out, don’t you agree?”

“We’ll figure it out.” Dean shrugs. “I love you, Cas.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Well, for starters, it means never having to say you’re sorry.” Dean jokes.

“That is actually completely untrue. I never understood that quote.” Castiel leans forward and rakes his hand through Dean’s hair. “But that’s not what I’m asking you. You said you want to be with me.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“How?”

“Yes. In what way do you want to be with me?”

Dean’s brows go up as he opens his mouth to respond.

“And please don’t make a joke.”

Dean shuts his mouth.

“I want to do this,” Castiel gestures to the conspicuous bulge between his hips. “Believe me, I want nothing more. But I don’t just want it to be something we do. I want it to be something we are.”

Dean gulps. “I think I understand.”

“I’ve made some mistakes that were pretty difficult to come back from, but I did. It’s the reason I haven’t practiced law in over a year. I lost a lot, but in the end, I was lucky because I didn’t lose anything that really mattered. And then I made some promises to myself. Promises I want to keep, Dean, because I don’t want to lose something that does matter. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Okay,” Dean says. “I have a plan, Cas. I’m going to do it. My manager, Benny, I’m going to tell him what I want, I’m going to tell him who I am, and we’re going to find a way to do it. I don’t know what’s best, press releases or interviews, but it’s going to happen Cas. It might take some time, but I swear to you, it’s going to happen.”

“All right,” Castiel says.

“Do you believe me?” Dean’s eyes are big, full of hope and love and everything good.

“Yes,” Castiel says. “With all my heart, I believe you.”

______________________________

 

After Dean leaves, Castiel watches a few more episodes of _The Unnatural_ , then goes to bed. He texts “good night, handsome” to Dean, and waits for Dean’s response before he puts his phone on the bedside table and crawls under the covers. Dean is going to fly back to L.A. tomorrow and take care of things. It is only a matter of time now, and with that thought Castiel sinks into his pillow, pulls the blanket over his legs, and sleeps.

______________________________

 

Castiel does not know how long his cell phone has been playing his ringtone before he hears it. He glances at the clock on the table next to his phone, wonders who could be calling him at two in the morning. Probably Dean, he thinks, and he scrabbles for his phone without opening his eyes, then squints and taps the screen to answer it.

“Dean?” Castiel says into the phone.

“Castiel, it’s Victor Henriksen.”

Castiel opens his eyes. Victor Henriksen does not like him, has never called him. Castiel’s heart pounds in his chest. “Victor?”

“Hester had another heart attack.”

“When?”

“About an hour ago.”

Castiel pushes himself up right against the headboard. “How is she?”

“I’m afraid we’ve lost her.”

He feels sick.  His stomach jerks as he swallows back the empty heave. “No.”

“She’s gone. It was very quick. The doctor tells us she didn’t suffer.”

Castiel can only breathe into the phone.

“I wanted to let you know,” Victor adds. “I’m sorry Castiel. She loved you very much.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“I’ll be in touch. About the arrangements. And things.”

“Thank you, Victor," Castiel manages, then ends the call and drops the phone. He folds his legs up into his body, rests his head against his knees, and cries.

______________________________

 

“Cas?”

Castiel is lying on his side in his bed, furled tightly into a ball, when he hears Dean.

“Cas. Oh my god, Cas. Are you okay?”

He feels him now, next to him, his hands on his waist, his untrimmed whiskers scraping against the back of his neck.

“Dean,” he says once, then again. “Dean.”

Dean settles around him, behind him, and gathers Castiel into him. “I’ve got you, baby,” he says, and Castiel begins to cry again. Dean rocks him gently, lays tender kisses along Castiel’s neck and shoulders, and whispers into Castiel’s ear.

“I’ve got you.”


	19. Where I follow, you'll go

Waking up surrounded by Dean is a relief. They’re coiled together sideways, Dean’s arm draped over Castiel’s waist, his fingertips secured beneath the waistband of Castiel’s boxers.  Their four legs entwine in such a way that if not for the glaring color contrast of Castiel’s sun-darkened skin, it would be nearly impossible to match limb to body.

“Hey, Cas?  You awake?”

Castiel yawns.  “I am.  What time is it?”

“Early.  Super early.  But if you’re awake, and you feel like it, I have an idea.”

“What kind of idea?”

“An awesome one.  You’ll like it.  You in?”

“All right,” Castiel says, rubs his eyes, and twenty minutes later he is in a tree by the river, mounted behind Dean on a large, familiar branch, his arms around Dean’s waist, his chin resting contentedly on Dean’s shoulder, watching the sun come up over the ocean.  Just as it has every day before this one.  Just as it will every day after.

 ______________________________

 

They meet up with Gabriel, Rachel, Jo, and Sam at the Café. Gabriel decided to close for the day, but made a few phone calls and everyone is there to share breakfast.

Castiel embraces Gabriel when he finds him in the kitchen cracking eggs for omelets.

“I’m so sorry Cas,” he says.  “We’re all sure as hell gonna miss her.”

Castiel nods.  “Thank you for sending Dean over.”

“There really wasn’t any stopping him. He was on his way to the airport to catch the red-eye to Cali.  Victor called Bobby, Bobby called me, I called Jo looking for Sam to get Dean’s number because, well, they’ve been joined at the hip since he got here, then I called Dean and you know the rest.”

“How did you know I wouldn’t call him?”

“Please, baby bro.  Sometimes I know you better than you know yourself. Or even _myself_ , come to think of it.  I’ve got a pretty good idea of how that noodle of yours works.”  Gabriel raps his knuckles against Castiel’s head.

Castiel smiles.  “Yes, I suppose you do.”

Gabriel glances through the window at the others. “Things look a lot friendlier this morning than they did at the hospital the other day.  Anything I should know?”

Castiel sighs.  “I don’t know what’s going to happen yet, Gabe, but it looks like we’re going to try.  I think we want the same things.  He has to take care of some stuff first, though.”

“Like his fiancée?”

“Yes,” Castiel says.  “And with his manager, and the show, I guess.  I don’t really understand it all.  It feels like it’s good, though, Gabe. It feels like it’s going to work.”

Gabriel shuffles his feet.  “So you, uh, love him?”

“Yes.” Castiel looks for Dean through the window, and finds him.  Dean’s cell phone is pressed to his ear as he paces along the outdoor patio, moving farther and farther away from Sam and Jo as he does.  Castiel doesn’t know who he is speaking to, but the conversation is causing Dean’s body to stiffen, his face to tense up.

“That’s all I need to hear,” Gabriel says and he slaps Castiel on the back.  “But there will be no place he can hide if he hurts my brother again. I goddamn mean it.”

Castiel snorts, gives a little chuckle. He knows that Gabriel is only half-kidding.  Last year, if Castiel hadn’t intervened, he wonders exactly what Gabriel would have done to Michael, and that situation was different.  Castiel did not love Michael. 

“Don’t worry,” Castiel says.  “I trust him.  He’s going to do the right thing, Gabe, I know it.”

“All righty, then.”  Gabe tosses a whisk to Castiel. 

Castiel catches the whisk and begins to work on the eggs Gabriel has already cracked into the bowl.  “So.  What about you and Rachel?” 

Gabriel makes a lewd face, then changes his mind and shakes his head and laughs.  “Actually, she’s a sweet kid.  Could just be the one to tame Tony the Tiger.”  He greases up the grill and scoops handfuls of sliced potatoes, tosses them onto the flat surface.

“Tony the Tiger being?” Castiel cringes when he asks, afraid that he already knows the answer.

“My dick.”

Yep, he knew it.  “Of course.”

They continue to chat as they cook together side by side, mostly about nonsense like why you should name your dick and under what circumstances you should rename your dick.  It is apparent that Gabriel’s singular goal is to make Castiel laugh. 

They bring the prepared food out to the patio, and when everyone gathers around the table, filling their plates and glasses, Castiel quietly watches them and thinks for the first time in a very long time not about what he has lost, but what he has somehow managed to find.

 ______________________________

 

“So this is it, huh?”  Dean wades through the water, duffel bag in one hand, his shoes in the other. “Castiel’s Island. I’m gonna make a sign and hang it over there on one of those trees.”

Castiel hauls the canoe through the shallows and onto the sandy shore while Dean finds a shady place to spread out. He lays the sheet out and plops down on it, then pats the empty spot next to him.  Castiel sits beside him, leans back on his elbows, and folds his legs up at the knees. 

Dean reaches into he duffel bag and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. 

“When did you get that?”  Castiel asks.

“This was a gift.  From Sam.  He went out and got it for me last night while I was talking to Lisa.  He figured I might need it when I was done.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow.  “You spoke to Lisa last night?”

“Yeah.  While I was packing to head back to L.A.”

“How did it go?”

Dean shrugs.  “Pretty much as expected.  I’m an asshole, blah, blah, blah, we had a deal, yadda, yadda, yadda, I’m gonna be sorry.”

“Oh.  I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean kicks his feet out in front of him. “Don’t be.  I’m not.  I’m relieved. I’ll let Benny worry about it.  I called him, and he knows now too.”

“Is that who you were talking to on the phone? At the Café?”

Dean nods.

“I thought maybe it was Lisa.  It didn’t look like a pleasant conversation.”

“Benny’s a little freaked out.  But he’ll just have to get over it.”

“About me?”

“No.  Actually, I think he couldn’t care less about the gay shit.  He knows how to handle that, he says.  But according to him, I turned it into a huge PR nightmare by getting engaged to Lisa first because now it looks like I’m leaving her for a man, and that’s scandal shit. Like I’ve suddenly turned gay after meeting you and…” he stops himself.

Castiel finishes for him.  “And it was my fault.  I’m the one who turned an otherwise straight as an arrow television heartthrob gay and wrecked his future beautiful American family.”

“Something like that.”

“I suppose it is very salacious.”

“There are a lot of stupid people in this world, Cas.”

“So why should we cater to them Dean? Why can’t you just be who you are and say yes, this is me and I’m done pretending it’s not?”

Dean breathes out slowly.  “You make it sound so simple.”

“Because I don’t see how it _isn’t_ simple.”

“God, I envy you Cas.  I know you had some rough times.  I’m not saying you had an easy childhood.  I’m not saying that at all.  But you had something that I never did. Something I needed so badly as a kid, but never got, except maybe from Sammy.  I would do anything for it, I _have_ done anything for it, and I think it’s fucked me up a little bit.”

“Love?”

Dean shakes his head.  “Acceptance.”

Castiel cants his head, watches Dean’s face while he speaks.

“You got to be who you are,”  Dean continues.  “Your mom, Gabe, Hester and Victor, they all loved you and told you that who you were was okay, that it was good.  Hell, basically this whole goddamn utopia of a town you live in doesn’t give a shit about whether you like men or women or men who pretend to be women or women who used to be men or fucking goats…”

“I think they might draw the line at goats.” Castiel grins at Dean.

“Yeah.  I got carried away.” Dean smirks.

“But I see your point.”

“My dad, he wouldn’t have any of that. I had shoes to fill. I had a role to play, and if I didn’t like it, he would make me like it.”

“What do you mean by he would make you like it?”

“I was fourteen.  I had a crush on this kid in my class.  His name was Aaron, and I don’t know how, but my dad found out.  Maybe he saw a doodle or something.  But he didn’t say anything at first.  He just took me out, told me we were going to have some father son time. And you know where he took me?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“To a brothel.  He took me to a hooker.  Eighth grade.  I was in eighth grade, a virgin, and my own dad buys me a hooker. It was his job, he said, to show me how to be a man.  With a hooker.”

“Did you…?”

“Nah.  Hooker was cool as shit.  I told her I was a virgin.  I told her I was fourteen and scared and she just about blew a gasket.  Read the riot act to my dad and kicked us out of there.”

“Ah.  The proverbial hooker with a heart of gold.”

“Yeah.  She was at least twice my age.  Anyway, I had to pay the price, but it was worth it to see my dad’s face when she called him a child abuser and threatened to call his boss and report him to child services.”

“Pay what price?” Castiel asks sharply.

“I was grounded.  He forbid me to see Aaron, of course.  And, I was, uh, disciplined.  Physically.”

“He beat you?”

“You could say that.  It only happened sometimes.  Not often.  Just when I really fucked up.”  He corrects himself.  “Just when _he_ thought I really fucked up.”

Castiel sighs heavily.  He thought that might be the case after their discussion on the beach, but he had hoped he was reading too much into it.

“Damn, Cas.  No one knows any of this shit about me except Sam.  And Sam doesn’t know about the hooker. Or Aaron.”

“So was Aaron your first boy crush?”

Dean nods.  “That I can remember.  The first one I wanted to do anything about.”

“And you doodled his name?  On your notebook or something?”

“Hey, I was fourteen.  Don’t judge.”

“I think it’s sweet, Dean.”

“Yeah?  Well I can doodle your name too, if it’ll score me any points.”

“It will score you so many points.”

Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folding knife, then crawls over to the coconut palm tree right behind them and carves into the smooth trunk. 

_D.W._

_+_

_C.N._

_4 good_

“How’s that?”

Castiel thinks his heart might explode. It thumps hard and fast, and he can feel his skin prickle just below the surface.  “It’s perfect, Dean,” he says, then lies down on his back on the sheet. “Do you want to make out now?”

“Huh?”

Castiel looks up at Dean through half closed lids. “Since we’re fourteen years old, I think we should make out now. It seems fitting.”

“Will there be some light petting?”

“Of course.”

Dean licks his lips.  “I like the way you think, Cas.”

Hours later they are forced to leave, even though they don’t want to, driven back to the riverside by hunger and poor planning. After very little debate in the canoe along the way, Dean agrees to change the name of the tiny spoil island from “Castiel’s Island” to “Make-out Island.” He swears again that he will make a sign.

They never even touch the whiskey.

 ______________________________

 

“I don’t want to leave you tonight Cas,” Dean says, back at the bungalow.  They are in Castiel’s bedroom, facing one another, Dean’s hands loosely holding onto Castiel’s hips.

“Then don’t.”  Castiel puts his lips to Dean’s ear.  “Stay with me.”

Dean pulls Castiel closer.  “Yep.  Yep. I can definitely do that. I’ve gotta let Sam know, though.”

Dean reluctantly pulls away from Castiel to make the call when there is a knock on the front door.  By the time Castiel gets to it, Gabriel is inside and looking around.

“Where’s Dean?” he asks.

Castiel nods his head toward his room. “He’s calling Sam.”

“Oh, okay.  I guess Sam’ll tell him, then.”

“Tell him what?”

Gabriel plants his hands on his hips. “His manager, some dude named Benny Lafitte, is on his way here.  Apparently, your Boy Wonder pissed off his little girlfriend, and she’s making waves.”

Dean comes into the room, cursing and shaking his head. “I told him not to come here. I told him I would go see him after Hester’s funeral.  That son-of-a-bitch!”  Dean paces back and forth.  “I don’t want to think about this shit!  I can’t deal with this crap right now.  And I'm not leaving here.  I'm not!”

“It’s okay Dean,” Castiel says. 

Dean shakes his head.  “No.  It’s not.”

“You don’t want to see him,” Gabriel says to Dean. “Then you don’t have to.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, interested.

Gabriel goes to Castiel’s kitchen and helps himself to a drink while he talks.  “The funeral is the day after tomorrow, according to Junior.” 

Castiel raises his eyebrows.  “The Fourth of July?”

Gabe smiles.  “Yeah.  But it works out great, because Junior, Victor, wants a small, private funeral. Just Victor and his wife, and us. Kinda got Rufus and Bobby and all them up in arms.  In fact it pissed off a lot of people.  Everyone loved Hester.  Victor’s just being the douche dick that he is.  So we had a quick town meeting, and the annual Fourth of July extravaganza is now Hester’s Most Excellent Memorial Service.  Live band, awesome food, and fireworks.  And everyone is invited.  Pretty kick-ass, am I right?”

Castiel smiles.  “This is wonderful, Gabe.  Hester would love it.  What do I need to do?”

“Nothing Cas.  It was all arranged anyway.  But my point is, until then, why don’t you two take off. Grab the bikes or the kayaks and go to the Sound or the Inlet.  Camp at the park or find a hotel. Go to fucking Disney World if you want. Anywhere.  Just wherever you go, go tonight.  Sam and I will keep your manager friend busy.”

“Gabe, what about the Café.  I haven’t worked since…”

“We’ve got Sam now.  He’s actually a much better server than you are.” Gabriel winks at Dean.

Castiel turns to Dean.  “So what do you think?  Are you up for a road trip?”

Dean smiles.  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”


	20. It's you and me and all of the people

“Are you sure we can’t do Disney World, Cas? I’ve never been there. And I hear it’s the happiest place on earth.”

Dean’s at the wheel of his rental car. They’re driving up the coast, heading north. No bikes, no boats; just the two of them, a single, recklessly packed bag of clothes between them.

“I’m sure Dean, and I believe that claim is a bit of an over-sell. Anyway, July is their busiest time of year. Even with a hat, a pair of sunglasses, and your mountain man facial hair, you will be recognized.”

Dean sticks out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, then rubs his chin. “You don’t like my beard?”

Castiel shrugs dismissively. “It chafes.”

“But in a good way, right?”

“Chafing is never in a good way.”

“Not even when…”

“Never, Dean.” Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Well, I can’t shave it. Not yet.”

“I know that. I’m not asking you to.”

“Maybe I can put some conditioner or something on it. Make it a little softer.”

“It’s fine, Dean.”

Dean grips the steering wheel with both hands. “So, do we know where we’re going yet?”

“I was thinking about St. Augustine.”

“What’s in St. Augustine?”

“Lots of things. The Fountain of Youth is there, and some museums. There’s a lighthouse, several forts, an alligator farm, a trolley that goes through …”

“Yes!” Dean face lights up with enthusiasm. “You had me at forts and alligators. Let’s do it.”

Castiel can’t help but smile. “They also have the best bed and breakfasts.”

Dean reaches aimlessly for Castiel with his right hand while keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him. “Aww, you’re so romantic, Cassie.”

Castiel laughs, pushes Dean’s arm away from him and tells him to "shut up.” He makes some calls and books a room at an inn located in the heart of the historic downtown district.

When they arrive at the Victorian house it is late. They find their room quietly, tiptoeing up the stairs, careful not to wake any other guests. They’re tired, punchy, and Dean dives onto the king-sized four poster bed as soon as he drops their duffel bag.

“Hey, are you trying to seduce me?”

Castiel picks up their bag and starts to unpack it. “Why would you say that?”

“You got one bed. Unless you plan to sleep in the tub or that chair over there, it looks like you’re planning to seduce me.”

“Seduce you? I don’t think,” Castiel teases.

Dean presses his lips together, then ducks his chin into his chest. “Oh. I just thought, maybe…”

Castiel sits on the bed next to him. “The word ‘seduce’ suggests the use of guile, that there is a need for some coaxing on my part. That’s really not an accurate recounting of the circumstance we currently find ourselves in, now is it, Dean?”

Dean stares at Castiel, then blinks several times quickly. “More,” he says. “Talk like that some more.”

“About what Dean? Do you want me to talk about the drastic effect your intensely green eyes have on my libido? Or how when your skin ruddies in unconscious response to your arousal it triggers something in me that can only be described as feral in nature?”

“Yes,” Dean nods, then pulls Castiel down onto the bed. “That’s good.”

Castiel rolls onto his side to face Dean. “How was that?” he asks. “Do you need some more?”

“I think I’m good,” Dean says, then steers Castiel’s hand to the firm ridge between his legs. “See what you did?”

Castiel allows Dean to guide his hand up and down along his length. “That’s really from me talking? That’s all it takes?”

Dean nods. “Pretty much. And the fact that the words come out of your mouth, and I know first hand what that mouth can do. I should try it.  I bet I can do it for you too. I bet I can talk your dick hard.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve always been exceptionally good at oration. It’s one of my gifts.”

“Quit bragging. I might be a little rusty, but I hear my oral skills are improving.”

“Prove it,” Castiel challenges.

“Prove it? You want I should put my money where my mouth is?”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth turns up suggestively. “Not your money, no.”

“Then how about I turn over and scoot down a bit and we can orate each other at the same time. You and me and some mutually pleasurable oration. Does that sound good to you?”

Castiel’s eyes widen, and he looks down at his lap. “Fuck.”

“Well looky here.” Dean peers at Castiel with a cocky, smug expression before he rubs his hand across Castiel’s thickening bulge and squeezes gently. “Is that a yes?” he says, then crawls on top of Castiel, keeping his hand in place. “’Cause it feels like a big, stiff, yes from where I’m sitting.”

Castiel swallows hard. He opens his mouth but no words come out. The man lying on top of him has rendered him speechless. Now that he is more comfortable with himself, Dean is frisky and confident and sexy as hell, and Castiel has never wanted anyone more in his life. Any idea he once had that he could deprive himself of this part of Dean until they had everything resolved now seems absurd. Dean is no longer engaged and Hester is dead and everything has been turned upside down and inside out. He used to want Dean, has wanted him from the first day they met, if he's being honest. But now he  _needs_ Dean, and he's not sure precisely when or how that happened, but it has.  And he needs _all_ of Dean.

A sense of calm comes with his awareness.  Castiel's entire body loosens, his breathing slows and softens.

“That’s most assuredly a yes, Dean.”

______________________________

 

Dean is easily entertained. Breakfast is served in the main dining room, and Dean asks the innkeepers about each item of food on today’s menu as well as every fort in the city until they eventually join them at the table.

“This is a dolphin. Is this a dolphin?” Dean leans in to get a closer look at the fruit on his plate. “That’s a banana that you made look like a dolphin? With a grape in its mouth? That’s really awesome. You guys are awesome.”

The two middle-aged male proprietors appreciate Dean’s energy, and probably his good looks as well judging by the way they both fawn over him. Castiel wonders if they recognize him, but if they do, they keep it to themselves.

Their hosts recommend that Dean and Castiel go first to the Lighthouse, and then to the Castillo de San Marcos Fort, so that is what they do.

From atop the Lighthouse, Castiel enjoys the early morning panoramic views of the ocean and the city.

“You like this kind of stuff, don’t you?” Dean wipes his brow with the back of his hand, panting still from the climb. “That was what, about a thousand stairs?”

“Almost. A little over two hundred. What kind of thing?”

“Nature and scenery and views and that kind of thing.”

Castiel braces against the red railing with both hands. “Yes, I guess you can say that. I think our surroundings impact us more than we realize. Especially emotionally.”

Dean stands behind Castiel and grabs hold of the railing on either side of him. “Well, I want to take you someday, Cas.”

“Take me where?”

“Everywhere. I want to go with you everywhere. Tahiti, Italy, Greece, Ireland. All the pretty places. And France.”

“That sounds pretty wonderful, Dean.” Castiel slides his hand over Dean’s, angles his head toward him. “But I’m not sure I could be surrounded by anything more beautiful than I am right now.”

They spend several hours walking around the Fort, and Dean is particularly enthralled by the demonstrations involving the historic weapons. He likes the cannons best, and is giddy as a schoolboy when they actually fire one. They leave when their stomachs demand it, returning to the downtown area where they find a small, casual place to sit, have a drink, and eat.

Dean snickers at a photo he has just received on his phone, then shows it to Castiel.

“That’s Benny,” he explains. “They’re apparently keeping him very busy. He’s been recruited to help with some cooking for Hester’s party tomorrow.”

“I should call and see how things are going. I feel terrible that I’m not there helping.” Castiel takes out his phone, but Dean puts his hand over it, preventing Castiel from dialing. “Come on, they’re fine. According to Sam, they’ve got plenty of help. Just about everyone in town is chipping in. Even Bill and Sally are giving their lips a rest and helping out.”

Castiel grins.

“So let’s keep kickin’ back. Aren’t you having a good time? I sure as hell am.”

“I’m having a great time.”

“Good.” Dean pushes his empty plate away and leans forward in his chair. He brushes his fingers over Castiel’s hand. “What say we walk around a little, have a few drinks if you feel like it, then go back to the room and hit the sack a little early?”

“Excellent idea.” Castiel feels a warm blush climb up his neck. “But might I recommend we skip the walking and drinking parts?”

“Cas, you dirty dog.” Dean grabs his wallet from his back pocket. “Where’s the check?”

They need the check. Castiel scours the room for the waitress, and he jerks his head back, squelches a gasp when he sees the man sitting at a table across the dining room, watching him.

“Michael.” Castiel looks down and away and shifts in his chair.

“What?” Dean scans the room to see whatever it is Castiel has seen. “You mean the dude in the suit headed this way?”

Castiel looks up in time to see Michael approaching their table. He rises quickly, nearly knocking his seat over in the process, and extends his hand, ready to greet him. But when Michael reaches Castiel, he grabs him by the shoulders and hugs him.

Castiel pulls away as quickly as he can.

“Castiel. Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise.” Michael glances at Dean, then dismisses him. “What brings you here? Business or pleasure?”

“Just having a late lunch.” Castiel takes a deep breath and turns to Dean. “Dean, this is Michael. Michael, Dean.”

Dean stands, and Michael offers an insincere two-handed shake.

“So how is your little restaurant, Castiel? Is everything on track with your project?”

Castiel ignores Michael’s condescension, but Michael sounds different. He seems different. “We’re still working things out.”

“Well, my offer still stands, of course.”

Dean moves closer to Castiel. “So how do you two know each other?” Dean asks.

“We worked together,” Castiel responds hastily. “When I was practicing law up here in Jacksonville. “

“Yes,” Michael agrees. “We worked together very closely. Some days more closely than others. Isn't that true, Castiel?”

Dean does not give Castiel a chance to respond. “Is that so?” Dean glares at Michael while he winds his arm around Castiel’s back and lays it possessively on his shoulder. “Not anymore though, eh?”

Michael smirks. “No. Not anymore.” Michael looks away from Dean. “Naomi and I have reconciled, by the way.”

Castiel glimpses at the man seated at Michael’s table. “Congratulations.”

“Yes, thank you,” Michael nods. “Call me soon, Castiel. There are some matters that have come to my attention that I think we should discuss. Purely business, as always.”

Michael turns on his heel and walks away from them, stopping at his table to pick up his companion on the way out. Once he is gone, Castiel slumps into his chair and covers his face with his hands. “Fuck.”

Dean sits down across from him. “Hey, Cas. What’s wrong? Who was that?”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s not a short story.”

“Okay. I’ve got all the time you need.”

“It’s not a very nice story either.”

“You really think that matters to me?”

Castiel looks up at Dean. “All right. I want to tell you about it. I do.  Not here, though.  Back at the room. I just need to use the restroom first.”

“Go ahead. I’ll take care of the bill and meet you out front.”

Castiel walks slowly to the men’s room, tries to shake the feeling that he has made a huge mistake, that he has put the Café in jeopardy. Michael’s overall bearing was off, not the same as when they met in Orlando several weeks ago. Castiel wonders if he was not taking his medicine, or if it had to do somehow with Naomi, when he realizes that the Michael here tonight wasn’t different at all. He was the same, the same as he has always been. It was in Orlando that he was different; changed; better. But it seems that change was, for reasons Castiel would likely never know, temporary. Michael was once again the brutal businessman who took what he wanted, mixed business with pleasure, and treated people like acquisitions.

Castiel is lost in his own thoughts. He’s not paying attention, not noticing what's around him, or that once he is inside the bathroom, he is no longer alone. Not until he is grabbed from behind and slammed face first up against the wall.

“Are you mocking me, Castiel?” Michael’s voice is a low rumble.

Castiel squirms to try and free himself, but Michael has a firm grip on both of his arms. “What are you talking about?”

“Is he your boyfriend? That feisty little pretty boy? I thought your tastes ran a bit more refined.”

He is trapped against the wall, yet he somehow feels relief. Michael is twisting his arms into a painful, unnatural configuration, but his mind eases when he realizes that Michael does not recognize Dean.

“I asked you a question Castiel. Is he your lover?”

“Get the fuck off of me, Michael! Now!”

Castiel closes his eyes when Michael pushes closer to him and speaks directly into his ear. “I believe we no longer share a meeting of the minds, Castiel. You’ve made a mistake. A very costly mistake.”

Michael steps away and releases Castiel with a shove. Castiel spins around, eyes still shut. He swings out blindly with both fists, but doesn’t make contact. Out of breath, he uses the wall for support, but his legs feel unsteady and weak so he slides slowly down the wall until he is seated on the floor.

“What’s going on?” Castiel hears Dean’s voice and opens his eyes. He is near panic, afraid that there will be a confrontation between Michael and Dean, but when he looks up, Michael is gone. Only Dean is there, hunkered down beside him while his hands roam up and down Castiel’s body, assessing, his face wracked with worry. “Are you okay? Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?”

Dean looks at the door, then at Castiel, and back again at the door. Castiel can see the moment he puts it all together.  Dean’s expression changes in an instant. “Did he hurt you Cas? I’m gonna fucking kill him, I’m gonna…”

Castiel grabs Dean’s hand when Dean jumps up towards the exit. “Don’t go, please. I just sat down to catch my breath.”

“Did he touch you?”

Castiel grabs onto Dean’s arms and Dean helps him stand. “I’m fine.”

“What the hell happened in here? Who is that guy?” Dean holds tightly onto Castiel with both hands.

“I think I’m in trouble, Dean.” Castiel grimaces when Dean touches the red spot on his cheek where it hit the wall. “I’ve made a big mistake, and I think I’ve fucked things up for Gabe. For the business.” Castiel sighs and rests his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. “I just want to go home now.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean buries his hand in Castiel’s hair, his fingers knead the back of Castiel’s head. “Let’s go home.”


	21. Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you

Bad things happen in threes. At least that’s what Castiel’s mother used to say. She wanted him to know about that, she told him when he was no more than eight years old, so that he could be prepared, so that he could understand that some things were simply outside of his control.

He knows that Anna Novak was strange and superstitious. He knows that she was mentally unsound. But still, that rule of three sits in the back of his mind, edging its way closer and closer to the forefront, forcing him to count out the events in his head. One - Castiel lost the funding for the Rogue Wave expansion. Two - Hester died. He looks at Dean beside him, singing along to the Kansas song playing on the radio, and he cringes at the thought of what he might lose next.

Dean hasn’t pushed him. He hasn’t asked a single question about Michael since they left St. Augustine, though he very clearly wants to, and Castiel appreciates his patience.

“I picked him up in a bar.” Castiel starts after they’ve been on the road for nearly an hour. “Or maybe it was the other way around.”

Dean stops singing and looks quickly at Castiel. He turns off the radio then grips the steering wheel with both hands. “Okay,” he says, and glances over again, encouraging Castiel to continue.

“About three years ago. It was one night. And then he turned up at the firm I was working at as a client, and after a while, we, uh, started a relationship of sorts. Eventually he became my boss when his company and the firm entered into a joint venture, and I was assigned exclusively to those accounts.”

“Did you love him?”

“No. I never loved him.” Dean’s eyes are still on the road, but Castiel can see the subtle loosening of his shoulders.  “I almost wish I had.”

Dean shoots Castiel a shocked look. “What?”

“Because at least that would’ve been an explanation. It would’ve been a pure, perhaps even comprehensible reason, for things I did, the way I behaved. But that was not my driving force at the time. It was about success, and money, and gratification.”

Castiel looks down at his hands, wrings them together in his lap. “It’s a time in my life I’m not proud of Dean. I was selfish. Greedy. I became someone that I couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with. And as easy as it might be to blame Michael for that, I can’t. He made it simple, offered it all up on a silver platter, but I’m the one who made the choices.”

“Did he put his hands on you, Cas?”

“In the restaurant today, he pushed me into the wall, held me there for a few seconds. That same thing happened once before.”

Dean’s jaw tightens and he slaps the steering wheel with one hand. “Goddamn son-of-a-bitch."

“That was the extent of it Dean. Nothing more. He has a terrible temper. He was controlling but not physical with me. He had the money and the power. He created my success and he could take it away. He made that clear to me every day. And when I finally did end it, when I finally had had enough, that’s exactly what happened.”

“Is that why you don’t practice law anymore?”

Castiel nods, shoulders slumped. “Yes. I lost my job, and I was basically blacklisted. No one would hire me.”

“So you went back to Rocket Beach?”

“Gabriel came and convinced me to come home. My grandfather left the Cafe to both of us, so I always owned half of it, but I had never been interested in it. For two years Gabe had been trying to get me to work at the restaurant with him and for two years I was a real assbutt about it.”

“Assbutt?”

“Yes. I was a total assbutt. I acted like it was somehow not good enough for me.  But coming back here, it saved me. Running the restaurant with Gabe, getting to know the people that live here again, spending more time with Hester, it was exactly what I needed.”

“Okay. So this Michael is the crown prince of douchbaggery who’s pretty damn lucky to be in one piece right now. But what does he have to do with the Café? Or Gabe?”

This is the part he dreads telling. The part where he has to admit that he was so desperate to fix his screw up that he convinced himself that Michael was the answer. He draws in a long, preparatory breath, and tells Dean about Gabriel’s plans for the Café, about the investors, about the missed meeting, and about turning to Michael for help with the urgent property purchase.

“In the restroom, he told me we no longer had a meeting of the minds.” Castiel rubs his face with his hands.

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s a legal term. When you enter into an agreement, all parties must be of the same mind, have the same intentions, otherwise the contract is invalid.”

“So you think he can cause you legal problems?  With your contract?”

“That’s what it sounded like he was threatening, but I really don’t think he can. I went over and over that contract. Word by word. I made sure that Gabe and the business were protected. Unless _we_ breach it, which is not going to happen, there is nothing in that document that he can hurt us with. Nothing.”

“I have money, Cas.” Dean makes the statement with a wave of one arm.

Castiel shakes his head. He will not replace Michael’s money with Dean’s. “No, Dean. We’ll be fine. The contract is solid. The more I think about it, the better I feel.”

“Well how about the rest of the money you need for the construction and stuff? I can help you with that.”

“I have that covered. We haven’t finalized it yet, but there’s a small group in Boca I’ve been talking to who’ve offered whatever we need. So, I appreciate the favor, but we won’t need it.”

Dean’s face falls, and Castiel wonders what he has said wrong.

Dean chews his bottom lip, as if he is trying to decide what to say next. “What if it wasn’t a favor, Cas. What if I wanted to, you know, become a part of it. Part of the Café. With you. And Gabe, but, you know, mostly with you.”

Oh. Castiel hadn’t considered that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand what you…” he says to Dean. “That’s a big…” He stops short of using the word commitment, although he knows that’s what it is. He knows that’s what Dean is offering. “I would have to talk to Gabe, of course, but I think I, I mean, I think we would like that. Are you sure Dean? Are you sure that’s something you want?”

Dean nods. “I’m positive. But how about you? Are you sure Cas?”

Castiel thinks he has never been more sure of anything. “Yes. I would like that very much, Dean.”

______________________________

 

It’s storming, raining hard and loud, and even though they don’t get all that wet running from the car to the house, Castiel doesn’t wait for Dean to close the front door before he starts tugging at Dean’s clothes.

“You should be naked, Dean.”

Dean brushes the water off the top of his head and grins, the one-sided upturn of his full lips that Castiel is now familiar with. The one that signals he is all in. “Right now?”

“The sooner the better.” Castiel touches Dean’s lips with one finger, then grasps the hem of Dean’s shirt with both hands.  Dean lifts his arms while Castiel pulls it up over his head and off of him.

Dean goes straight for Castiel’s shorts. He unzips them and jerks the waistband until the offending button rips off and the shorts slide down Castiel’s legs without further assistance. Castiel steps out of them, then pulls Dean’s mouth to his while Dean removes his own short pants.

“You know, if you own part of the Café, you will probably have to spend more time here. In Rocket Beach.”

“Uh huh.” Dean plants his hands on Castiel’s buttocks, pulls his hips into him and presses himself against him.

“You may have to work there too sometimes, especially when it’s bigger and better.”

“Hmmm.” Dean slides one hand between them and rubs Castiel’s boxer-clad groin with his palm.

“Gabe would be your boss. And technically, I would be your boss too. You’d have to do what I told you to do.” Castiel grunts softly.

“If you’re trying to talk me out of this, Cas, you’re doing a shit job of it.” Both of Dean’s hands catch the edge of Castiel’s elastic waistband and drag his boxer’s down to his thighs.

“No, I’m not trying to do that. I just want you to be fully aware of…to be aware of…of….ahhh.” Castiel loses interest in whatever it was he was trying to say to Dean as Dean’s fist glides resolutely along Castiel’s length. Dean strokes him with unwavering purpose, his thumb caresses the head every few passes, wipes away the fluid there. When Dean's other hand reaches further back between his legs, that’s it for Castiel. It’s too much, and Castiel doesn’t want to come yet, so he pulls away, takes Dean’s hand and leads him to the bedroom.

When they settle onto the bed, Dean rakes his hand through Castiel’s damp hair and kisses his face. His forehead first, then his cheeks, his nose, his chin, and his lips. “I love you Cas.” Dean brushes Castiel’s cheek with his fingers. “I do. And I’m not going anywhere unless you make me. Can you understand that? Do you get that yet?”

Castiel nods, but it’s not until later, while Dean lies on top of him, still inside him, his breaths as slow and ragged as Castiel’s, his head tucked easily into the space between Castiel’s neck and shoulder, that Castiel forgets the rule of three and lets himself believe it.


	22. In your house I long to be

Castiel is still in bed, curled up on his side with his arms wrapped around the pillow when Dean returns from an early morning meeting with his manager, Benny Lafitte. Dean wakes him with a gentle shoulder shake.

“Hey, Cas, I know you’re tired but you’ve gotta get up. We’ve got a long day ahead.”

Castiel mumbles some dissent, but complies anyway by rolling onto his back and opening his eyes.

“So you went back to bed after I left?”

Castiel nods.

“You little sneak. And you forgot to lock the door again.”

Castiel yawns. “I never lock the door.”

“What? You never lock the door to your house?”

“Not really, no. We don’t have much in the way of crime here, Dean. It’s not something anybody worries about.” Castiel reaches up and pets Deans face. “Besides, it makes it much easier for my boyfriend…for _you_ to come and go.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Aw, Cas. That’s so sweet. You called me your boyfriend.”

“No I didn’t. I’m not twelve.”

“Yeah, you kinda are. You climb trees, you ride a bike, and you go to the beach every chance you get.”

Castiel laughs. “Now I wish I _was_ twelve again.”

“Well I, for one, am happy that you aren’t.” Dean slaps Castiel’s backside. “Now up and at ‘em.”

Castiel gets up slowly, and rests back against the headboard. “How was your meeting with Benny?”

Dean makes a pained face and rolls his eyes. “Okay I guess. He’s got it all worked out, it seems. I guess I’m gonna do some kind of exclusive interview with Oprah or Ellen. Someone everybody loves, but he wants to talk to my show’s producers first. They need a heads up, he says, in case the network wants to issue some kind of statement of support, and that all has to be coordinated. And he’s been talking to Lisa’s people about how to handle the break-up. She hasn’t said anything yet about you, Cas, and Benny doesn’t think she will. They’re working out whether I broke up with her or she broke up with me.”

“What? You told me _you_ called it off.”

“I did, but I mean officially. For the record.”

“The official version isn’t the truth?”

“Not necessarily.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, you and me both. That’s why I have Benny. I don’t get half of this stuff.”

Castiel cants his head, thinking. “It seems much too complicated. When does this all happen?”

“Within the next six weeks, hopefully. I start filming again in a few weeks and it needs to be hammered out by then.”

“I see.”

“It’s not that long, really.”

“I know.”

“Until then, though, we have to, you know, lay low I guess.”

“Lay low?”

“We can be seen together, hang out and stuff, just no PDA. In public, we’re buddies. Friends from back in the day.”

Castiel shakes his head slowly. “Another lie. Dean, please tell me that you’re not asking me to…”

Dean waves his hands. “No, no Cas. I’m not asking you to lie. I’m just asking you to not, uh, offer the truth.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Technically, yes. You’re a lawyer. It’s one of those loophole things you guys are famous for.”

Castiel hesitates, but Dean has a point. He can agree to stay quiet for Dean. “All right, Dean.”

“Great. Thanks, Cas. I know this sucks, but on the upside, at least Benny brought me a suit for Hester’s service. And by the way, he can’t wait to meet you.”

From what Dean has told him about Benny’s job as his manager, how it seems to require him to play fast and loose with the truth, Castiel is not particularly anxious to meet him.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower. Feel free to jump in at any point.”

Castiel smiles. “Go ahead. I’ll be in in a few minutes.”

Dean winks at him and leaves the room. Castiel remains on the bed for several moments, trying to take in everything Dean has told him, then decides that he doesn’t want to think much about it now. He gets out of bed, and is stripping to join Dean in the shower when his cell phone rings. He grabs it, checks the caller ID, then tosses it on the bed when he sees who it is.

Michael.

It flashes Michael’s name while Led Zeppelin plays, and Castiel stares at it until it stops. He knows there won’t be a message. Michael doesn’t leave messages. Castiel refuses to think about it. Today is about Hester. And right now, Castiel has someone waiting for him. Someone he loves and wants very much to scrub clean from head to toe.

As Castiel leaves the room, the phone still on his bed, he can hear it ring again, and he blocks it out in his head as he joins Dean in the shower.

______________________________

 

“Let me help you with that.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel fiddles with his tie as he looks in the mirror. “I haven’t worn one in so long. Can’t say I’ve missed it.”

Dean comes up behind him, reaches around him to adjust his tie for him. “You look kind of gorgeous, Cas.”

“Well you look very handsome yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“You know, Dean, I was thinking about _Little Women_.”

“The book?  Or do you mean women who are little?”

Castiel smiles. He has grown fond of Dean’s humor. “The book of course. It was one of Hester’s favorites and you knew that. How did you know that?”

“Just a hunch, Cas.” Dean brushes lint from the shoulders of Castiel’s suit jacket.

“Well, I never finished reading it, and I think I would like to. For Hester.”

Dean laughs. “Okay, sure. Or we can see the movie. On second thought, no movie.  I can just tell you what happens, if you want."

"Just tell me this part. Jo and Laurie, or Teddy, they end up together, right? They live happily ever after?”

“Uh, no.”

“What? They don’t? They really don’t?”

Dean shakes his head.

“But they were made for each other. And the narrative of the story so far would suggest that they end up together.”

Dean shrugs. “I guess the narrative is wrong, Cas.”

“So it’s not a happily ever after story then?”

“It is. In a way. It’s just not the happily ever after you want. Or expect.”

Castiel shakes his head in disbelief. Maybe he shouldn’t read it. That does not sound like an ending he is interested in.

“You know, Dean, I wanted to tell Hester that I loved her, but I didn’t do it. I feel so much regret about that. I had the chance, in fact I had many chances, and I didn’t do it.”

“I understand that those words can be hard to say for some people.” Dean sighs, bites his bottom lip. Castiel knows now that Dean does that when he is mulling over his words, when he has more to say.

“What is it Dean?”

“I’m just saying that she knew, Cas. Even though you didn’t say it, I’m pretty damn certain that she knew.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I…because you have a way of saying it without words, Cas. And Hester was a smart lady. She knew. Just like…” Dean stops mid-sentence and pats Castiel on the back. “Come on. We should go.”

Castiel creases his forehead, pinches his brows together, and wonders just what it is that Dean was trying to tell him.

_____________________________

 

Castiel and Dean arrive at the cemetery early, along with Gabriel and Rachel. Dean distracts Victor Jr. and his wife while Cas and Gabriel slip a bottle of Hester’s favorite Reisling into the casket. Bobby and Rufus are also there, having crashed the private service, but Victor says nothing to them and they stay.

Victor chose to hold a very small service at the cemetery. It is difficult for Castiel to get through, and when his eyes well up, Dean slides his hand into his. Castiel looks at Dean, as hand-holding surely is one of those prohibited public displays of affection, but Dean just squeezes his hand and holds on more tightly. Victor Jr. purses his lips, condemnation in his eyes as he peers at Castiel over the top of his sunglasses, and Castiel recalls exactly why it is that they do not get along.

“I’ll be in touch,” Victor says to Castiel as if he deigns to do so but for whatever reason must. Castiel wants to ask why, wants to know what possible reason Victor would have to ever see Castiel again, but he doesn’t. This is Hester’s day, and it will not be ruined, so he shakes Victor’s hand and thanks him before they leave the cemetery.

______________________________

 

Hester’s Most Excellent Memorial Service is a huge hit. The very local blues band starring Rufus Turner plays on a makeshift stage by the river, and nearly all of Rocket Beach is there. The park is decorated in red, white, and blue for the Fourth of July Holiday, and on every table is a bottle of Hester’s favorite Reisling, which is used for the toast. The food is provided by several local restaurants, including Rogue Wave Café, and there are casseroles and cakes and other dishes brought by the various townspeople.

After the toast and the telling of several Hester stories by Castiel, Gabriel, Bobby, Rufus, and a few others who were fortunate enough to have a Hester story to tell, Castiel mingles while Dean and Sam help Gabriel with the food.

“Well, well, well. You must be _the_ Castiel?”

Castiel recognizes Benny Lafitte from the photo Dean showed him yesterday. His tone is friendly, his southern drawl charming, but Castiel feels an accusation of some sort in those five little words. Benny points to the empty seat beside Castiel and asks “may I?”

Castiel nods and accepts when Benny offers him one of the two bottles of beer in his hands. “Thank you,” he says. “You’re Benny. Dean’s manager.”

“The one and only,” he says. “Been wanting to meet you. The man my boy has gone all catawampus over.”

Castiel opens the bottle Benny gave him and takes a long swig.

Benny continues. “I gotta say, this whole thing caught me unawares. Had no idea Dean had a little sugar in his tank, but I ain’t got no problem with it. None at all.”

Castiel sips again from his beer. He’s pretty sure this conversation is intended to be one-sided.

“Dean’s worked hard to get where he is now. He comes from humble beginnings, and I’d hate to see him screw it all up by going off half-cocked. The media, they’re smart. Lisa’s people are about to announce the end of the engagement. The way Dean’s spendin’ all his time around here, actin’ happier than a pig in shit, they’re gonna figure out something’s up and start askin’ questions. Now, he’s gonna need your help with that.”

Castiel picks at the label on his bottle, scratching the paper off with his fingernails. “If you want me to lie, Dean knows how I feel about that.”

Benny nods. “Yeah, he told me you weren’t the lying type. Integrity and all. But Dean’s got a lot to lose. If you care about him, and I think you do, maybe you can make one little exception, considering all that he’s givin’ up for you.”

“I didn’t get the impression that ending his phony engagement with Lisa was that big of a sacrifice,” Castiel says dryly.

“Oh, I’m not talking about her. Good riddance as far as she’s concerned. High maintenance trouble was all she was ever gonna bring to the table. I was regretting puttin’ them together in the first place to tell you the truth.”

“Then what exactly are you talking about?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you. Of course he didn’t tell you.”

“Is there a problem with the show?”

“No, no. The show will go on. They love him. His contract is firm. There might be some backlash there, but nothing big, just a few waves, nothing we can’t navigate.”

Castiel is relieved. The show has been an important part of Dean’s life since Dean was nineteen years old. As much as Dean has couched it in terms of money, _The Unnatural_ means more to him than that and Castiel knows it.

“A few endorsements will get kicked to the curb. Fuck ‘em. He’ll have to deal with the usual hate that comes from the narrow-minded, right-wing, holier than thou types. Fuck them too. But mostly, it’s his career after the show I worry about. This whole thing is gonna have an impact on his leading-man marketability. And the show is winding down. Ain’t gonna last forever. This is probably the last season, maybe one more if we’re lucky. It’s time for him to be thinking above and beyond, but he’s too busy thinkin’ about something else.”

Castiel’s discomfort must be obvious by now. He can feel the tight line of his lips as he presses them together to keep the wrong words from coming out. His bottle is empty and the label is peeled off entirely. “Why are you telling me this?”

Benny shrugs. “I think it’s only fair that you know the whole story. What he’s doing for you. What you’re getting into. Because you don’t get away scot-free here, either. You’re gonna become a prime paparazzi target. And just like that, there goes your quiet little life in this quiet little town at your quiet little café.”

Castiel wishes he could tell Benny he is full of shit, but he doesn’t really know about these things, and he has a feeling that he’s not.

“Hey, Benny, you mind if I borrow Cas for a minute?”

God bless Sam Winchester.

Sam hands Castiel his own beer as he tows him away from Benny. Castiel guzzles it down while Sam laughs.

“Yep. That’s kinda what I figured, by the look on your face.”

Castiel finishes the bottle and wipes his mouth with his palm. “That was highly uncomfortable.”

Sam nods. “Benny’s a little intense for a laid-back southern dude, but he always seems to have Dean’s best interests at heart. At least I’ve always thought he has. What’d he say to you?”

“Nothing to the contrary.” Castiel looks around for Dean. “Where’s Dean?”

“He’s over by the food with the gang. He sent me to find you.”

 _The gang_. Castiel smiles. He likes that. Sam and Dean, him and Gabe, Rachel and Jo. _The gang_. He could get used to that.

______________________________

 

“So what happened?” Dean has taken Castiel aside in an attempt to find some privacy, and Castiel stands with his back to the brick wall behind the restroom building that is away from the main picnic area.

“I just had a talk with Benny. Or a talking to, might be more accurate.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Aww Jeez. What did he say?”

“A lot of things, Dean. He wants me to cover for you, lie if I have to…”

“You made it clear from the beginning that that was not something you were willing to do. I know that. I already told you, I’m not asking you to lie.”

“Except for the loophole. You’re asking me to loophole.”

“Well, yeah.”

“And keep it secret. You’re asking me to be a secret.”

“Jesus, Cas, when you put it that way…”

“What way am I putting it, Dean?”

Dean flattens one hand against the wall beside Castiel’s head and leans on it. “I know you’re right. I’m sorry it’s so complicated.”

Castiel nods. “I know it’s not easy for you. And I don’t want to make it harder. But tell me why you are doing all of this anyway?”

Dean’s brows furrow and his mouth drops open. “You don’t know?”

“I want you to say it. Tell me why.”

“For you, Cas. I’m doing it for you.”

Castiel sighs and shakes his head slowly.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

“No, I absolutely do believe you.”

“Then what? Why are you upset?”

“You shouldn’t be doing this for me, Dean. This is too big. It’s too important.”

“I don’t understand.”

"Christ, Dean, really? I’m telling you, if you are doing this for me, if that’s your only reason, then don’t.”

“What? What other possible reason would I have to do this? There’s no one else. There may never be. Why the hell would I come out if I didn’t have to? Of course the only reason I’m doing this is for you. I don’t get why you have a problem with that.”

“You should be doing this for _you_. Even if we weren’t together, even if we never met. You should be doing this for yourself. Because _you_ want to.”

“Because I want to what? Throw away everything I’ve built up in the last ten years?”

Castiel freezes.

“Shit. I didn’t mean that, Cas. That came out wrong.”

Castiel drops his head, looks down at his feet.

Dean takes Castiel’s chin in his hand, pulls his face up. “Hey, hey, Cas. I didn’t mean it.” Dean leans in and kisses his lips.

Castiel’s eyes dart around quickly. “Dean, don’t. There are people everywhere. Someone could come back here and see us.”

Dean looks around. “I don’t care. I didn’t mean it, Cas.”

“All right,” Castiel says, but when he looks at Dean, he knows that they both know that he did.

______________________________

 

As soon as the sun sets, they watch the fireworks that are launched from a barge in the river, and it is an incredible display that has been coordinated with the few surrounding island and mainland cities. Dean and Castiel sit side by side but do not touch, not in front of other people, and Castiel can’t help but think that despite the fact that they are only inches away, they still seem to be worlds apart.


	23. Don't stop believin'

Castiel leans against the doorframe and watches Dean move around the tiny room.  Dean opens and shuts the round glass door, pushes button after button on the console. Each one beeps a warning before he growls and swings out his leg, pretending to kick the machine.

“Have you never done laundry in your entire life?” Castiel laughs. He steps forward, and after confirming that Dean has put detergent into the proper dispenser, starts the washing machine for him. 

“Not since I was a kid,” Dean says. “I used to do laundry for me and Sam, mostly at laundromats.  But now I’ve got a housekeeper and a washer that looks like a spaceship and I have no idea what to do with either one of them.”

Castiel bites back his grin. “Are you doing lights, darks, or colors?”

Dean stares at him blankly for a few moments, then responds. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I’m washing my clothes.  Yours too.  The ones that were on the floor.”

Castiel can’t seem to stop smiling since he woke up to find Dean tidying up the room, grumbling something about Castiel being “kind of a slob.”  For several minutes he laid there, somewhere between sleep and not sleep, listening to Dean patter about the house with familiarity, contemplating how Dean had all the qualities of a perfect roommate.  Considerate. Neat.  Good in bed. 

“All right, then.  Should be interesting.” He’ll have to teach Dean how to do laundry, and he mentally adds it to the growing list of things he wants to show Dean, but right now, they have to get dressed and go.

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Dean asks when Castiel throws some clean clothes at him and tells him to hurry up.

Today, they’re going to start at the top of that list. “The Café.  We’re going to work, Dean.  You’re going to learn how to make muffins.”

______________________________

 

Gabriel is completely on board with the idea of Dean buying into the Café.  “Are you serious? Of course I’m okay with that.” He smacks Castiel on the back. “Looks like I’m going to get my celebrity endorsement after all.”

Castiel nods.  “Yes,” Castiel says.  “Maybe it’s time to come up with that house special.”

“Great idea little bro. Your boyfriend’s having a grand old time in the kitchen. You mind if I borrow him for the rest of the day? I wanna check out what kind of cooking chops he has.”

“Not at all.”  Castiel looks over at Dean, who is still in the kitchen, “chilling”, as he calls it, working intently on some food prep while he waits for the muffins to bake, as if he wasn’t a television star on hiatus, as if he wasn’t a Hollywood millionaire, as if his presence in the Café is anything but temporary.  And that makes Castiel smile. 

______________________________

 

Sam has set himself up at the small table in the corner of the patio, the one Bill and Sally like to use when they’re here to not eat. He pulls a stack of thick books out of his backpack and sets them on the table.  Castiel walks toward him to get a closer look.  He recognizes those books.

“Good morning, Sam.”  Castiel plunks down on the seat across from him.  “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

Sam looks up at him and nods.  “Sure am.”

“Is there something I’ve missed?  Some loop I’m out of?”

“Nah, Cas.  Nothing like that.”

“You’re studying for the Florida bar exam.”

Sam grins.  “It’s kind of a just in case scenario.  The way things are looking, I may need to be licensed here.  And there’s no reciprocity, so yeah, I’ll have to take another bar exam.”

“I can help you.”  Castiel picks up _Ehrhardt's Florida Evidence_ and flips through it.  “I still know some stuff.”

“That’d be great Cas.”  Sam watches Castiel as he thumbs through the pages. “Do you miss it?”

Castiel shrugs.  “Sometimes.”  He closes the book and puts it back down on the table.  “I didn’t realize things were to that point between you and Jo.”

Sam raises one brow.  “Me and Jo?  No. I mean, yes.  I like Jo.  A lot.  A whole lot.  But we’re still just getting to know each other.  That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what?”

“Dean.”  Sam says. “L.A. is nice and all, but the only thing that keeps me there is my brother.  When he moves here, I’ll probably tag along.”

“When he moves here?” 

“Uh, yeah.  You know, after he gets through all the PR bullshit Benny wants to put him through and everything normalizes.”

“Oh.”  Castiel tries not to look surprised, but judging by the contrite look on Sam’s face, he fails.

“Shit.  When am I gonna learn,” Sam scolds himself out loud.  “I figured, well, I guess I assumed you guys had talked about that.”

“He told you that he would be moving here?”

Sam’s eyes dart around the patio.  “You should probably talk to Dean.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows, folds his arms, and waits for Sam to answer.

“Okay, yes.  He said if everything goes as planned, he’d be moving his home base here.”

Castiel exhales loudly, then grabs Sam’s bewildered face with both hands and kisses him.

“Thank you, Sam.  You have no idea how much I needed that.”

______________________________ 

  

Dean is poised over the prep table, knife in hand, chopping salad greens when Castiel comes up behind him. 

“Hey what’s up, Cas?”

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean, pulls his body close to his, and talks into his ear.

“As soon as you are done with the salad, we’re going to recess here and rendevous back at the bungalow.”

“Meet at your house?”

“Yes.  Once there, I’m going to disrobe you without the use of my hands.”

“How would you even…?”

“And after you’re divested of your clothing, I’m going to ever so gently lay you down on the bed and carefully, meticulously, bind your wrists to the headboard in order to minimize your mobility.  Do you understand?”

“Uh, yes.  Keep going.”

“I will then proceed to penetrate you in more ways than you thought possible.  I will take you apart, inch by inch, by engaging each and every one of your senses - sight, smell, sound, taste, touch – simultaneously, until you are so immersed in your own pleasure that you’ve lost the ability to do anything other than experience and react.  Am I clear?”

Dean swallows, then nods.

“And I will do all of this with nothing but my mouth.”

“Aw, fuck, Cas,” Dean pants.  “You sure as hell better not be kidding me right now.”

“Well that depends.”  Castiel slides both hands up under Dean’s T-shirt and Dean drops the knife in his hand onto the stainless steel table.  “Who do you belong to Dean Winchester?”

“You.”  Dean lets his head fall back onto Castiel’s shoulder.  “Whatever you want, whenever you want it,” Dean breathes. “I’m yours.”

“Jesus H. Christ would you two get a room!” Gabriel enters the kitchen then makes an abrupt u-turn and leaves, yelling back to them. “Get out of my kitchen you goddamn horn-dogs.  Go take a break and bump uglies if you’ve got to.  I’ve got work to do!”

“You heard the man,” Castiel says, then takes Dean’s hand and leads him home.

______________________________

 

“Cas, what I said to you yesterday. I’m really sorry. You know that, right?”

Castiel lies flat on his back while Dean curls up on his side next to him, his head resting on Castiel’s chest.

“I know.”  Castiel combs his fingers through Dean’s hair.  “It’s just…I’m worried, Dean.”

“About what?”

“About us.”

Dean lifts his head to look at Castiel. “Really?  After the last hour?  Your mouth didn’t seem the least bit worried.”

“This isn’t the part I’m worried about.”

Dean drops his head back in place.  “Yeah, I know.”

“If we broke up tomorrow, you wouldn’t do any of it.”

“I don’t know what I’d do, Cas.  I’d be too miserable to even think about it.”

“That’s not my point.”

"It's just..." Dean pauses. “People aren’t really interested in me, Cas.”

Castiel frowns.  “That’s absurd, Dean.  They can’t get enough of you.  Isn’t that why your manager has to plan everything out so carefully?”

Dean traces the lines of Castiel’s collarbone with his finger.  “I mean, they’re not interested in the _real_ me. And why should they be? I haven’t done anything that really matters, except help Sammy get through our childhood. And college and law school too, I suppose, but I did that with money that was just basically handed to me because of how I look.”

“Dean, you’re famous. People love you.”

“Not _me_. It’s not _me_ they love.  It’s not _me_ they care about. It’s who they think I am.”

Castiel shakes his head.  “Dean…”

“I don’t know if I can explain it right, but when I tell you that I’m doing this for you, that I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t for you, it’s not a bad thing. Please don’t think it’s a bad thing.”

Castiel moves his hand down Dean’s neck and back, his fingertips brushing along the bumps of Dean's spine.  “This decision, coming out as bisexual, it’s permanent for you.  It’s irreversible. I don’t want you to feel pushed into it.  I don’t want you to ever regret it.  I don’t want you to someday look back and for whatever reason, resent me for it.”

“Resent _you_? No.  That’s not possible.  You know, it’s not that I wouldn’t _want_ to do this without you.  It’s that I wouldn’t be _able_ to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you once that I wished I was braver. I am now. Right here and right now, I am because _you_ make me braver. You make me want to do this. So I’m not just doing this _for_ you, Cas.  I’m doing it _because_ of you.”

Castiel swallows the lump climbing up the back of his throat.

“I hope you get what I’m trying to say. I’m not real good with words. Not like you.”

“I think you’ve said it quite nicely, Dean,"  Castiel says.

"I know it's hard, but I need you to trust me about this, Cas.  I won't do anything to hurt you.  I promise."

Castiel kisses Dean, then reaches behind him and runs his hand over Dean’s bare backside. He does trust Dean.  It's Benny and his manipulation of truths that leaves Castiel's stomach twisted in uneasy knots.

“It’s been nearly two hours. I think our break is over. We’d better get back to work."

______________________________

 

The rest of the week is like a dream as far as Castiel is concerned.  Sam had to fly back to L.A. for work, but Dean didn’t.  He works with Castiel at the Café every day and goes home with him every evening.  They walk on the beach, kayak, bike trails at the inlet, and watch _The Unnatural_  at night before bed. 

Gabe enjoys having Dean there almost as much as Castiel does.  He goes over all of the expansion plans with him, shares his vision for the Café/lounge concept, and is thrilled when Dean offers up some ideas of his own.  The two of them create a new dish for the current menu, Hester’s Hearts of Palm Ceviche Salad, into which they somehow manage to tastefully incorporate Hester’s favorite Riesling.

Castiel has been ignoring his cell phone. He recognizes that he has an issue with avoidance, knows from experience that nothing good can come of that. Michael has called a few more times, but he never leaves a message. That is another issue that Castiel is going to have to deal with.  Soon. An unknown number called twice and left a message to contact a lawyer he’d never heard of, but Castiel hasn’t brought himself to do that yet either.  When he receives a text message from Victor Henriksen to “call his lawyer back please,” Castiel finally does.

“Mr. Novak, I have been assisting Mr. Henriksen with the execution of the Last Will and Testament of Hester Williams Henriksen. “

“All right.”  Castiel stands behind the counter inside the Café.  Rufus sits at the counter, gnaws on an almond poppyseed muffin while Dean and Gabe experiment in the kitchen with food for the new menu.

“It seems she has left you something quite important to her. A tree.”

“A tree?”  Castiel smiles broadly.  “The tree by the river?”

“Yes.  That’s the one.”

Castiel laughs.  “That’s fantastic.  But, uhm, how does that work?”

“Well, technically, it could be relocated.”

Castiel cannot fathom the thought of pulling the tree he has grown to love from its roots.  “I’m not sure that would be...”

“But I don’t believe that’s what Hester had in mind. Would you like me to read what she wrote?”

“Yes.  Please.”

“To Castiel Novak, son in my heart, I leave the grand oak by the river, and all surrounding property, including the structures thereon, as described in the deed of property for the residence located at Ten Beacon Way.”

Castiel’s legs wobble, and he’s grateful for the nearby stool that steadies him.  “The house?  She left me the house?”

“Yes.  The entire property.”

He falls silent, rubs his eyes one at a time to keep the wetness there in check. 

The lawyer continues.  “I take it this is a surprise then?  She didn’t inform you that she had done that?”

“No, she didn’t tell me.”

“Well, the estate is in probate right now, but if you want to dispose of the property you can.  We just have to petition the court.  It’s not difficult.  Just more paperwork.”

“Dispose of it?  No. No, no, no,” Castiel says firmly.

“It’s worth a pretty penny.  It’s the most valuable thing she owned.”

“I know.” 

Castiel speaks with the lawyer for a few more minutes, but he finds it impossible to concentrate on the details the lawyer goes on about.  He'll have to figure that all out later.

“I guess she wanted it to be a surprise,” Rufus says when Castiel puts his phone back into his pocket.

“She left me her home, Rufus.” 

“I know.”  Rufus helps himself to another muffin.  “Victor told me years ago.  Victor senior.  He and Hester made that decision together.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rufus shrugs.  “Come on now.  You know that’s not my place, son.”

“Hey, Cas, try this.”  Dean comes around the corner with a spoon in one hand, his other hand cupped beneath it to catch any spills.  Cas opens his mouth automatically as Dean slides the spoon in, and he is suddenly filled with thoughts of him and Dean together in Hester’s home on the river.  Images flash like camera clicks in his head, pictures of Dean cooking, Dean laundering clothes, Dean playing ball barefoot in the backyard.  It overwhelms him and he scrunches his face, tries not to cry.

Dean bares his teeth, makes a face. “Ooh, is it really that bad?”

“No, Mr. Oblivious.  He’s happy.”  Rufus shakes his head.  “You can’t see that your man is about to cry tears of joy?”

Dean is confused.  “So you _do_ like it?”

Rufus slaps the counter and shakes his head again in frustration, but Castiel grabs Dean and hugs him quickly. “Yes, Dean.  I like it very much.”


	24. Tossed about, I'm like a ship on the ocean

Dean learns quickly that most of the people of Rocket Beach have no idea who he is. In fact, the chances of being recognized by anyone over the age of forty-five is close to nil. And that is why, after nearly three weeks since Hester’s memorial, the only residents who know about Dean and Castiel are Gabe, Jo, Rachel, Rufus, and Chief Bobby Singer.

Still, Castiel gets increasingly grumpy. Every time Dean abruptly drops his hand or quickly steps away from him reminds him that they are at a standstill, stuck in a place Castiel never wanted to be to begin with. In a few days, Dean leaves for a two-day press junket, then goes directly to Vancouver to start filming his show’s tenth season. And nothing has changed.

“Do you intentionally load the dishwasher wrong in the hopes that I will just eventually do it myself?” Castiel is making a racket, banging forks and spoons and knives as he pitches the flatware from the dishwasher haphazardly into the drawer.

“Huh?”

Castiel stops what he is doing to face Dean. “You seriously think it’s proper to put the knives in there with the blades facing up?”

Dean’s eyes flit around the room, as if he is trying to find the joke that he’s not getting. “Uh, yes?”

Castiel rolls his head and sighs dramatically. “Someone can get hurt, Dean. Blades should point downward. Always. No exceptions. It’s simple.”

“Okay then.”

“’Okay then’? That’s it? That’s the end of it for you?”

Dean blinks, eyes wide. “Is this a fight? Are we having a fight? This feels like a fight.”

Castiel is undeterred. “You may say you’ll put them in blades down, but how do I know that you actually will? How do I know that next time I unload the dishwasher, I’m not going to get stabbed with a fucking knife?”

Dean scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that this isn’t actually about knives in the dishwasher. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Oh, so the dangerous manner in which you load the dishwasher isn’t important enough for you?” Castiel huffs. “This has to mean something else to be worthy of your attention?”

“Look, we definitely should talk it out. But we’ve gotta go pick Sam up from the airport, and it’s a long drive, so we should get going. We can talk in the car.”

“I’m not going.” Castiel crosses his arms and walks away from Dean, down the hall and into his bedroom. Dean follows behind him.

“Aw, c’mon, Cas.”

“I mean it Dean. Go without me.”

Dean throws his arms up in the air. “Fine. Why don’t you stay here then.  Maybe you can work on untwisting your panties.”

“All right.”

“Wait. What? You’re really not going?”

“I’m not going to go, Dean,” Castiel says from somewhere in his closet. He comes out with a pair of running shoes clutched in one hand. “I’m tired of talking about it. I’m going to go for a run.” The irritation in his voice gone, he sounds more weary than angry. “I think maybe I just need to go for a run.”

Dean eyes him for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, okay Cas.”

“I’ll see you later?”

“You can Oscar the Grouch me all you want.” He pulls Castiel’s head toward his and kisses his forehead. “But you just try and keep me away.”

______________________________

 

Dean does not run. Period. That’s what he told Castiel one night when he suggested that they run rather than walk the beach. He likes his belly soft and round, he informed Castiel, and running is boring and was invented for people who get a kick out of thinking for no good reason.

Castiel hasn’t run in weeks, and it is exactly what he needed. He runs to the beach, then along the hard sand at the edge of the surf for a while. He gets off of the beach and heads down the road toward the river so he can run faster and on a flat, paved surface. He stops for a few minutes in front of Hester’s house. It’s his house now, he remembers, or it will be soon enough, but to him, it will always be Hester’s house. He’s eager to move in, excited about starting a life there with Dean.

Dean. He glances at his watch. Sam’s flight should have landed a few minutes ago. He can’t wait for Dean to get back so he can apologize for being such a jerk, for picking a fight. He’s determined to make it up to him, even if it takes all night.

______________________________

 

The sun is down by the time he gets home. He ran for over an hour, and now he’s hot and sweaty, looking forward to a nice, long shower. He goes straight to the kitchen as soon as he walks through the door, gulps down a bottle of water, then pulls off his clothes and drops them piece by piece onto the floor as he makes his way to the bathroom.

While ducking his head under the spray of cool water, Castiel soaps himself up, wishes Dean was there with him. He unconsciously wraps his hand around himself, tugs easily a few times, then changes his mind. He’d rather wait for Dean.

When he gets out of the shower, he folds a towel around his hips, tucks one end over the other by the juts of bone on each side, and goes back to the kitchen for some more water.

“You haven’t returned my calls Castiel.”

Castiel jumps when he sees Michael seated casually at his dining room table. An involuntary yelp falls from his mouth.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just waiting for you to finish up. Your door was unlocked. You didn’t answer, so I let myself in. I've already shown myself around and I must say, your home is quite…modest.”

“How do you know where I live?” It’s a stupid question and Castiel knows it. Rocket Beach is not a big place, and property records are not confidential. He hadn’t made any effort to conceal his ownership when he purchased the bungalow after returning here from Jacksonville.

“Really? Was that supposed to be a secret too?” Michael grins. “I’ve never been good with other people’s secrets.”

“What do you want Michael?”

Michael sighs, as if he is put out by Castiel’s refusal to respond to his goading. “I called you no less than five times.”

“I know. I’ve been busy. I was going to call you back.”

“I only wanted to apologize for my behavior in St. Augustine. You’re too busy now even to accept an apology?”

Castiel tightens his grasp on his towel. “All right then. Apology accepted. Now, as you can see, I’m just getting ready for bed, so…”

“I’ve come a long way, Castiel.” Michael leans back in the chair and taps his fingers on the table.

“You shouldn’t have.  Not for that.”

“Well, I will admit, I have other motives as well. I want to discuss something else with you. Another matter of importance to me.”

“About the loan?” Castiel has been expecting this, knew this was coming, and there is no way he can avoid it now.

“No. Something more personal.”

Castiel shakes his head lightly, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Please, sit.” Michael gestures toward the table.

Castiel looks down at his exposed body. There’s nothing here that Michael hasn’t seen, but still, he feels vulnerable, and he doesn’t like it. “I should get dressed first.”

Michael stands up, pushes the chair back under the table. “Don’t be foolish, you’re fine. In fact, you’re perfect, Castiel. You look…you look just as I remember.”

Without moving, Castiel searches the room for his cell phone, sees it on the kitchen counter.

“I would like to resume our personal relationship.” Michael announces it as he would any business accord.

“That, th..that, that is not a good idea.” Castiel stammers at first, then takes a shallow breath and speaks slowly.  He must select his words carefully.

“And why not?” Michael slowly steps toward him.

“Wouldn’t it jeopardize your reconciliation with Naomi?”

“As you are well aware, my marriage has never been an obstacle for us.”

“It was for me.” Castiel steps back as Michael gets closer. He feels the wall against his shoulder blades.

“You had no complaints when you were in my bed.”

“You lied to me about her Michael. You told me you were separated. You told me…” Castiel stops when he sees Michael’s handsome features harden, his demeanor shift. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to react, but he couldn’t help it. He glances at the short hallway leading to the bedrooms to his right, the back doors to his left, but decides to stand firm. He can’t show any weakness, because that is exactly what Michael wants, what Michael preys on. Castiel has witnessed it more times than he can count.

“Yes, I did do that.” Michael is only a few feet from him now. “I lied for you. Because you needed it. I told you what you wanted to hear so that you could remain cloaked in your own false morality. And that’s exactly what you did. It was amusing to watch, really. So sanctimonious by day, yet willfully blind by night. It seems a bit disingenuous to claim a clear conscience now.”

“You’re right.” Castiel drops his head for a moment. Michael _is_ right. Castiel’s ignorance was contrived, nothing more than an attempt to distance himself from the truth about Michael, about his career, about his own life. He sat back and let everything happen, let pieces of who he was get rubbed out, blurred, until he barely recognized what was left.

“And that is why we work so well together, Castiel. We are more alike than you have ever cared to admit.”

“No. Not anymore. What I did is not who I am.”

Michael stands directly in front of Castiel now. “No one need know about it. It can be, as the kids say, on the down low. Like before.”

“No.” Castiel says sharply.

Michael grunts with derision. “Don’t act so put off, Castiel. That’s exactly what you’re doing now.”

“What do you mean?”

“With your actor friend. He keeps you hidden away from the cameras, lest the world discover his true proclivities. I’m not asking you to be exclusive. I’m willing to share. You can still see him, or whomever you’d like for that matter.”

“No. It’s not that way. Dean and I, we’re…”

“You’re what?”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure what he and Dean are, but he is certain that debating it with Michael will not bring him closer to the answer.

Michael smirks at his inability to respond. “And so, once again, you are another man’s dirty little secret.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No.”

“Face it, Castiel, because it’s true. You are his as surely as you were mine. You know it. I know it. He knows it. But don’t worry. I won’t give you away. We can reach détente, I’m sure of it. No one need ever find out about his tendencies. His reputation will remain as is, and everyone is happy.”

“You need to leave, Michael.”

Michael braces himself against the wall with one arm and leans into Castiel. “I won’t tell a soul because I understand. I understand your appeal. Your allure. Your magnetism. I understand how addictive you are, how impossible it is to erase the smell of you, the taste of you, the very thought of you from memory.”

Castiel feels the color drain from his face, his heart race. He has been wary of Michael, suspicious of him, but he has never, until this moment, been afraid of him.

Castiel lifts his chin to position himself eye to eye with the taller man. “I want you to get the fuck out of my house right now,” Castiel tells him through clenched teeth.

Neither man hears the door open. Castiel is grateful for that when Michael is caught off guard. Dean yells “what the fuck,” as he grabs Michael from behind, pulls him away from Castiel.

Michael turns on Dean. He pushes him into the wall, and Castiel draws his fist back and rams it into Michael’s face as hard as he possibly can. It hurts his hand. It hurts a lot, but Michael is on the ground, wiping blood from his nose, and Dean is standing between them, arms out in a protective stance, and Castiel feels strangely satisfied.

Sam comes through the open door with a suitcase in each hand and stops short. “Dean?” He drops the suitcases and raises his fists in one swift move, then surveys the scene. “Cas? Are we good?”

Michael stands, smoothes his suit jacket with a sweep of his hands. “I’ll be going now, Castiel,” he says. “Remember that I tried to help you.”

He walks out of the door and all three men watch him leave before Sam says, “Uh, who was that?”

Dean shakes his head and looks around, notices Castiel’s clothes strewn about the floor. “Cas, are you okay? Did he touch you? I will fucking kill him if he so much as laid a finger on you.”

“No, Dean, he didn’t.” Castiel bends over, picks his gym shorts up from the floor, and grins weakly. “I’m just a slob.”

“Well I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that’s great, Cas.” He folds himself around Castiel, squeezes tightly, kisses his neck, then Castiel’s injured hand. “And remind me to never piss you off.”

“Guys.” Sam is still standing by the door. “Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, call Bobby or something?”

Dean nods, but Castiel shakes his head. “Call Gabe, please. I need to see my brother. I want to see my brother.”

Sam pulls out his phone and dials.

______________________________

 

“Tell me again why we aren’t calling Bobby and pressing charges?”

Clothed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, Castiel sits on the couch next to Gabriel, holds a bag of frozen peas on the knuckles of his right hand. His gaze drifts over to Dean, who is in the kitchen on the phone with Benny, pacing in the small space. Sam leans against the counter, following Dean’s back and forth movement with his head.

“Because, Gabe, it’s misdemeanor trespass at best. It’s not worth the trouble.”

“I’m thinking, baby bro, there’s a little more to it than that.”

Castiel sighs, lowers his voice. “I can’t file a police report. It’s a public record, and Dean’s name would be all over it. Along with my name. I’m sure you can see what a mess the media would make of that. I won’t involve Dean in this.”

Gabriel claps his hands together and nods. “It’s your call, Cas. But I wish you had told me about the money from Michael. We’ve gotta find a way to buy that assjack out. I don’t like having any dealings, business or otherwise, with him. Maybe your boyfriend over there…”

“No.” Castiel cuts Gabriel off. “I’m not asking Dean for money.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Forget I said that, I was just tossing ideas out there. We’ll figure something out.” Gabriel throws his arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “Whatever shit we’re in, we’re in it together. It’s me and you. We’re partners, right?”

Castiel smiles at his brother. “Always.”


	25. Say something

“Benny thinks we should check into a hotel.” Dean drops onto the sofa next to Castiel with a dramatic grunt.

“Why?”

“Just in case. He says all it takes is one little leak and Rocket Beach will be crawling with photographers. Just for the next few days.”

Castiel thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “Well, I don’t really think its necessary, Dean, but I wouldn’t mind if we stayed in one of those suites with a hot tub. Maybe we could get some in-room massages. I haven’t had a good massage in a long time. And room service in bed doesn’t sound half bad, does it?”

Dean folds his fingers together, bites his bottom lip. “No. That sounds pretty nice, Cas. The thing is, he meant me and Sam.”

“Oh.”

“But I said no.”

“You did?” Castiel sighs relief.

“I told him there’s no way I’m leaving you here alone. Not with Fatal Attraction running around out there. I’m just glad you don’t have any pets, if you know what I’m saying.”

“You don’t want me to be alone? Is that the reason you said no?”

“Well, yeah, Cas. Of course it is. What if he comes back?”

Castiel shakes his head. “If your only concern is my safety, then Sam can stay with me and you can go to the hotel.”

Dean hesitates briefly before agreeing. “Well that’s, uh, okay. Sure. If that’s what you want, Cas. Benny’s got it all arranged already anyway. All I’ve gotta do is show up. Sam can stay here, and you’re going to start locking your goddamn doors.”

“All right.”

“And the hotel thing. It’s temporary. You know, just in case.”

“You said that.”

“You’re angry.”

“I’m not angry. It’s been a long day. Can you please just tell me how much longer this will be?”

“Just for the next three days. Until I leave.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. How much longer do we have to, do _I_ have to…just tell me how much longer.”

Dean spreads out against the back of the couch. “The interview is being scheduled. These things don’t just happen overnight. You don’t just call Ellen and say I’m gonna come on your show tomorrow. She has a schedule. I have a schedule. People are working it out.”

“I understand that.”

“Then what don’t you understand?”

Castiel crosses his arms. “Everything else.”

“Everything else.”

“Yes. Everything else.”

“Okay. Let’s see then. Where do you want me to start?” Dean twists his body sideways to face Castiel. “With the fact that I pay Benny to make these decisions because I don’t know the first thing about this shit and it’s what he does best? Or do you want me to go a little farther back, to say, the Big Bang.”

“Hilarious, Dean.”

“Cas, c’mon. Let’s not fight.” Dean lays his hand on Castiel’s frozen pea covered knuckles. “You just cracked your fist on a giant prick’s face for me.”

Castiel holds up his swollen hand, opens and closes it. “I think it’s all right, Dean.”

“Whatever. I still want to make it up to you. How about we ditch these bozos and go spend some quality time together?”

A reluctant grin breaks the pinched line of Castiel’s lips. “By bozos you mean our brothers, and by quality time you mean sex?”

“You’re half right. But maybe I like your idea better.” Dean raises one eyebrow.

Castiel pushes Dean's face away. “So where can we go where no one will see us together?”

______________________________

 

Thirty minutes later, Castiel and Dean are on the beach, sipping whiskey from flasks, silently watching a loggerhead turtle dig into the dry bank with her flippers, sand flying around her as she creates her nest. They keep their distance while she lays her eggs and then covers them before returning to the ocean.

“That was pretty incredible to watch,” Dean whispers. “And all of those eggs are going to be giant ninjas someday. That’s awesome.”

“Well, not all of them.” Castiel stands, brushes sand from his backside.

Dean takes a pull from his flask. “What do you mean?”

“Statistically, the survival rate is not great.”

Dean looks up at Castiel. “What? What is it then? Sta…statis...what is it?” Dean’s tongue has grown thick, his words garble.

“Only one in a thousand grow into ninja turtles.”

“But there aren’t even a thousand eggs in there.”

“No. About a hundred.”

“You mean, maybe none of those little guys are gonna make it?”

Castiel nods. “Yes. It’s possible.”

“That’s awful. I may never get over this. Come comfort me.”

Castiel finds Dean’s genuine concern for the fate of the turtle eggs endearing. He sits back down behind Dean, wraps his legs around him and pulls him back onto his chest. “Nature can be harsh, but it’s, well, it's natural.”

“Cas, are you trying to circle of life me? That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“You know, Victor Henriksen, Hester’s husband, told me when I first met him that if I found the right girl, I should bring her here, to see the turtles. He told me that’s how he won Hester.” Castiel takes Dean’s hands in his, folds them across Dean’s body and rocks him gently.

“Aww, Cas. Are you saying that I’m the right girl for you?”

“I suppose I am, Dean. And Hester knew. After meeting you one time, she knew. How did she do that?”

“Intuition, I guess.”

“I suppose so.” Castiel nudges the back of Dean’s neck with his nose, kisses him there. “She always knew what was right for me. She always knew what I needed. The tree. The house. You.”

“She was one special woman. That’s for sure.”

“Let’s skinny dip. I can’t remember the last time I skinny dipped.” Castiel springs up and starts to peel off his clothes.

“You mean in there?” Dean points to the darkened water in front of them.

“Well, yes.”

“No can do.” Dean shakes his head emphatically. “There are things in there. Like fish and, and, turtles, and, and sharks. I don’t think my junk should be floating around loose in there. Plus, we’re both kind of drunk, and neither me or my dick can swim, so…”

“I’m going to have to teach you how to swim.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. But until then…”

Castiel drops to his knees in front of Dean. “Until then, I have an idea.”

______________________________

 

Even under the influence, Dean has no trouble picking the lock on the gate to Dr. Madison’s pool. “I learned that from Jake Remington. You’re sure Doc’s not here?”

“He leaves town for the whole summer. He won’t be back until after labor day.”

“Are we breaking the law?”

“Only if someone catches us. So we have to be quiet.”

“You always surprise me. You keep me on my toes, baby.”

“Yes, good. Tiptoes are quiet. Shhh.” Castiel puts his finger to his lips. Dean follows him onto the pool deck, then sits beside him on the edge of a cushioned lounge chair.

“Uh oh.” Castiel frowns, holds his flask upside down so Dean can see that it is empty.

“Can’t help you, Cas. Mine’s been empty for a while now.”

“Then it’s a good thing I brought these.” Castiel pulls two tiny whiskey bottles from the pocket of his shorts.

Dean nods. “You’re amazing, man. You’re so smart. And hot. And smart.”

“I want to swim.” Castiel hastily pulls his clothes off and dives into the pool. “Aaaargh!” he screams when he comes up for air. “It’s fucking cold!”

Dean crawls over to the edge of the pool to meet him. He reaches in and puts his hand over Cas’s mouth. “Shhhh. I don’t want to go to jail again.”

Castiel pushes his hand away. “I can talk us out of jail.”

“Yeah, I bet you can.” Dean taps Castiel’s mouth with his finger. “You have an excellent mouth. And these gorgeous eyes.”

“Come in the water.”

“I think I’ll just watch you swim for a while.”  Dean stands up and undresses carefully while Castiel prepares to swim. He folds his clothes and lays them on the chair, then returns to the edge of the pool where he sits and dangles his legs in the deep end, a miniature liquor bottle in each hand.

Castiel knows he probably shouldn’t be swimming under the influence, but it feels good, even naked. He likes how the water feels on his skin as he pushes through it, or when he glides below the surface after every flip turn.

He’s not sure how long he swims, but it’s long enough that when he paddles up to Dean and grabs hold of Dean’s knees, he needs to catch his breath. He feels solid, invigorated, and more sober than he was when he started. Dean brushes back Castiel’s wet hair. “Your ass looks un-fucking-believable when you swim, Cas. Just watching you makes me hard.”

“So I see.” Castiel lays a line of kisses along Dean’s inner thigh, notices the small empty bottles on the pool deck next to Dean. “And that’s no easy task considering the cool breeze and your current state of sobriety. Your virility knows no bounds, sir.”

“Did you just call me sir? Jesus, Cas, what you do to me.”

Castiel moves next to Dean and hoists himself up and out of the water. “Let’s mess around.”

“Here?”

Castiel nods. “Right here.”

“I can’t wait another fucking minute. I want to stand up and just shout it out, tell the whole world that I love you. Everyone should know.”

Castiel grins. “That sounds very romantic, Dean. Like a movie.”

Dean jumps to his feet. “I love Castiel Novak!” He yells to the sky, his arms held out wide at his sides, his words slurred. “I love him, and he’s a man, and I’m a man, and I love him. Dean Winchester loves Castiel Novak, you hear that world? And you can’t stop me! I don’t fucking care what …”

“Shhhh, Dean stop it.” Castiel grabs Dean, cuts off his rhetoric with a hand to his mouth. “There are people who can hear you.”

Dean looks at Castiel. His green eyes are glazed over and half closed, from liquor, or want, or both, but even in the dim light that the moon allows, Castiel can see the depth of their resolve. He thinks that maybe they hold the answers he seems to need.

“Then shut me up,” Dean says when Castiel removes his hand, and Castiel does, slams his mouth against Dean’s and kisses him silent. Dean pushes Castiel toward the lounge chair and down on it, then situates himself on top of him, their hips aligned.

“What are we, Dean?”

“Huh?”

“You and me. What are we?”

Dean raises his head when Castiel asks the question, creases his brows. “So we’re not gonna mess around?”

A sharp beam of light slices across Castiel’s face. He winces, covers his eyes with his hand and hears the loud voice that he knows shouting at him. “Dag gummit, Castiel.”

“Fuck,” Dean gasps.

“Alright now boys,” Bobby Singer declares. “Put on some pants. Playtime is over.”

______________________________

 

This is Castiel’s first time in jail but he doesn’t mind it. He leans back against the cell wall, a barely conscious Dean propped up by his side.

Dean holds up his hands when Bobby comes in. “Where are my handcuffs?  I demand handcuffs. I have rights you know.” He drops his head on Castiel’s shoulder.

Bobby shakes his head. “I really don’t think that boy’s playing with a full deck. No offense, Cas.”

“None taken.”

Bobby stands in front of Castiel, hands on his hips. He lifts one leg and plants it on the bench beside him. “So let’s get this straight. You’re telling me that you heard a noise at Doc’s house, and out of the kindness of your tender hearts, went to check on it, whereby you accidentally fell in the pool, then had to remove your clothes to let ‘em dry?  All at the unfortunate same time I just happened to be responding to a complaint of suspicious activity in Doc's pool?”

“Yes.” Castiel’s nose twitches. Castiel is too sober to be lying to the police chief, to be lying to Bobby. “That is what I am saying.”

“Son, don’t piss on my boots and tell me it’s rainin’. I expect a much better story from an educated boy like you.”

“Such as?”

Bobby sighs. “Such as Doc gave you permission to use his pool whenever you wanted in exchange for updating his will.”

“That’s not true either, Bobby.”

“It ain’t?  Well that’s odd 'cause that’s what Doc told me on the phone just a few minutes ago when I called him.”

“Oh.”

“So I can’t hold ya. You’re both free to go.”

Castiel nods. He’ll have to remember to thank Doc. And perhaps, update his will for him. “All right.”

“What happened to your hand?” Bobby asks.

“Nothing.”

“You keeping something from me?”

Castiel lowers his head. “Yes. I am. Sorry Bobby.”

Bobby shakes his head. “Do you want me to take you home or do you want to call someone.”

“I would like to call someone, please.”

______________________________

 

Sam picks them up and brings a suitcase for Dean as Castiel requested. They take Dean to the hotel across the bridge that Benny set up for him. Sam and Castiel bring him to his room and put him to bed. Castiel leaves him a note before he and Sam return to the bungalow.

“My brother’s an idiot,” Sam says from behind the wheel of Dean’s rental car.

“No, Sam. He’s not.”

“Yeah, well, he sure acts like one sometimes. I don’t get this whole hotel thing.”

“Benny set it up for him. Just in case Michael has some pull with the media, I guess.”

Sam nods, peeks at Castiel intermittently as he drives. “He’s gonna come out,” he reassures him. “Eventually, he’ll do it. It’s hard for him.”

“I know, Sam.”

“I mean, it’s not just about his career, and everyone he knows finding out that’s got him freaked, it’s our dad too. Dean would deny it, but that’s gotta be something in the back of his mind.”

“Your dad?” Castiel had never really considered it, but it makes sense based on what he knows of John Winchester.

“Yeah. He told you about him, right? He doesn’t go for this sort of thing.”

“I thought you really didn’t have much contact with him?”

“We don’t. Dean sends him money though, pays for his apartment and a little extra for food. We see him maybe twice a year.”

Castiel sighs and nods. Maybe Dean shouldn’t do this. Maybe being open about himself is not something he will ever be able to do. Maybe it isn’t what he truly wants for himself and he’s only doing it for Castiel’s sake, which is the last thing Castiel wants. He wonders briefly if he could set aside his own pride and live a secret life with Dean, a quiet, half-life. But he knows he can’t. He won’t.

Sam continues. “I know he loves you, Cas. Just because he’s having a hard time doing this, that it’s kind of a big deal for him, I don’t want you to worry that you’re going to lose him.”

“I don’t worry about losing him, Sam.” Castiel looks away from Sam and focuses on the road ahead of them. “I worry that I never really had him.”

______________________________

 

The next day is quiet. Benny comes to town, and Castiel does not see Dean all day. They talk on the phone though, text back and forth, but it is the conversation they have while Castiel lies in bed that leaves him hopeful.

“I told Benny that I’m not doing the interview.”

“You what?”

“I’m gonna do it your way. I’m just gonna live my life – we’re just gonna live our lives and what happens happens. Starting tomorrow. If someone asks me a question, I’ll answer it with the truth.”

“Are you serious? You told him that?”

“Yep. And he stormed off, pissed as hell.”

“Dean. Is this really what you want? I was talking to Sam and…”

“Shut up, Cas. Don’t try to change my mind.”

“I’m not. I’m just…”

“I know. Me too. And I bought you something. Had it made, actually. I can’t wait to give it to you. I’m going to come to the Café in the morning.”

“I can’t wait to see you, Dean.” Castiel beams, and when he falls to sleep it’s to thoughts of him and Dean and their new home on the river. He can’t wait for tomorrow.

______________________________

 

Benny was right. There are two photographers outside of Castiel’s home when he leaves at six in the morning. One of them hollers at him, asks if Dean Winchester is in the house. Castiel ignores them, but he takes his truck to work rather than walk.

When he arrives at the Café, there is a photographer there too. This one sits on a motorcycle in the parking lot and doesn’t bother Castiel as he passes him. Gabriel grabs Castiel’s arm as soon as he gets inside.

“Looks like shit’s about to hit the fan.” Gabriel pulls Castiel into the kitchen. “Is there a game plan?”

“Do I look like Benny?”

“Don’t be a dick, Cas.”

Castiel smiles. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Nope. Dean told Benny he wasn’t going to jump through hoops anymore. We’re just going to stop hiding and whatever will be will be. He’s coming over this morning.”

Gabe slaps Castiel’s back. “That’s awesome. And about time. My baby bro and the TV star. Finally gonna be official.”

“Yep. So it’s blueberry muffins today because they’re Dean’s favorite.”

“Of course.”

By ten a.m. the Café is full of strangers. Jo and Rachel are both there to help with service. Castiel helps when possible, but he spends most of his time cooking with Gabe in the kitchen while Jo does her best to eavesdrop and flirt her way to information.

Jo comes into the kitchen with a handful of orders and the results of her recon. “They’re all from out of town. They heard that Dean Winchester comes here, that he is seeing someone who works here and that she is the reason he dumped Lisa. I’ve told the ones who asked that I don’t know who he is, but I don’t think they believe me.”

“Okay, good work.” Gabriel rubs Jo’s back. “Are they bothering you at all?”

Jo shakes her head. “Nah. They’re actually pretty easy to deal with because they’re constantly on their phone or their ipads. All they want are coffee refills.”

They hear a noise at the back door before it bursts open. Sam comes in followed closely by Dean in his usual disguise – baseball cap and sunglasses. The door slams behind them, only to fly open one more time when Benny enters, waving his arms, yelling at Dean.

“Please, Dean,” Benny begs. “Don’t do this. Everything is in place. Eight more weeks. That’s it, that’s all I’m asking for.”

“No.” Dean heads straight for Castiel. “Is there somewhere here we can be alone?”

Castiel takes Dean to the walk-in cooler, shuts the door behind them.

“Are we in the giant refrigerator? This is the only place we can be alone?”

“It’s soundproof Dean. And it looks like Benny is still unhappy.”

“Yeah, he is. Says it’s gonna get all fucked up this way, that it’s gonna play out that you’re the reason Lisa and I split, blah, blah, blah.”

“Dean, are you sure about this?”

“If I don’t do it now, Cas, I’m afraid I never will.”

“All right then, I’m with you. Whatever happens with those, people out there. Understand?”

“Yes.” Dean retrieves a small box from his pocket and hands it to Castiel. “I want you to have this. For when I’m away.”

Castiel opens the box and removes the piece inside. It’s a bracelet; a steel plate with an embossed design and a thick, brown leather band.

“I had it made. There’s this artist in Vero Beach. I told him what I wanted, and he made it.”

“It’s a turtle.” Castiel mutters, swipes his thumb over the raised tribal turtle design.

“They always come back to the same beach,” Dean explains. “They take off, go thousands of miles away to do their turtle thing, whatever that is, swimming and shit, I guess, but they always come back. They always come home.”

“They’re steadfast,” Castiel says. “And faithful.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.” Dean takes the bracelet from Castiel’s hand and winds it around Castiel’s wrist, snaps it in place. “And I have one too.” Dean shows Castiel his own identical bracelet. “To remind me where I belong.”

“I love it.” Castiel brings his hand to Dean’s jaw. “And if we didn’t have to deal with a hundred other things, I would take you home right now and show you how much I love it. Thank you, Dean. For this, and for what you are about to do.”

Dean rubs his cheek into Castiel’s hand, then nods. “It’s getting cold. I guess we’d better get out there.”

Dean pushes out of the cooler and Castiel follows him. He walks past Benny and Gabriel and Rufus, directly to the outdoor patio where the reporters, photographers and self-proclaimed journalists wait. He moves with such confidence, has so much determination in his step, that it makes Castiel proud.

Jo and Sam are already outside. Dean stands there for less than a minute before someone catches on and yells “there he is!” and within moments there is a bit of a frenzy.

Benny is there in a flash to handle the crowd. Clearly, this is what he knows how to do. He holds out his arms and pushes them back, repeating “give the man some room,” over and over, and they listen to him, slowly complying.

Benny whispers into Dean’s ear, and Dean drops his head with a shake that would be missed by most, but not Castiel. Dean removes his hat and sunglasses, and scrutinizes the small crowd.

Pictures are being snapped before he even opens his mouth. “Well, looks like you’ve found me,” Dean jokes, then smiles, and the entire group laughs with him. It’s as if he has already won them over, and Castiel is pleased. Whatever makes this easier for Dean is all right with him.

“I’m gonna ask you all to please be respectful here, because this place is special. This Café, the Rogue Wave, is where I met someone that means a great deal to me. Someone who is about to change my life.”

There are murmurs and “woos” among the crowd.

“So tip big,” Dean adds. “And I mean really big.” More laughs. He’s good at this, Castiel thinks. He has them eating out of his hands, even managed to sneak in a quick plug for Gabriel. Castiel rubs his hands together, bounces lightly on the balls of his feet. He can’t remember the last time he felt this excited.

“Who is she?”

“What does she do?”

“Does Lisa know?”

Questions are shot at him from different directions and Dean answers.

“Yes, of course Lisa knows, “ Dean says. “Lisa and I remain in touch. But we’re not going to talk about Lisa today,” he says firmly, and Benny nods. Castiel has never seen Dean like this. Dean is magnificent.

“Is she here? Is your new girlfriend here?” someone asks. Dean glances at Castiel, then Benny, then back at Castiel, and Castiel notices a subtle shift in Dean’s posture, a sudden uneasiness in his manner.

“Who is she?” The question is asked again, and Dean rakes his fingers through his hair, takes a step forward, ready to respond.

“It’s not what you’re expecting,” he starts. “The thing is…”

Dean is interrupted by a flurry of blonde hair when Benny pushes Jo into Dean, then steps in front of them after Dean catches her. “Her name is Jo Harvelle, and she’s a waitress here,” Benny tells them, and the cameras start snapping again, full force.

Jo looks wide-eyed at the crowd. “What the hell is going on?” she whimpers.

“Is that her?”

“Are you in love?”

The questions start flying again, and Castiel realizes that his mouth has dropped open as he watches Dean and waits, waits for him to deny it, waits for him to explain to them all that Jo is not the one he loves.

But that doesn’t happen. Instead Dean regains his composure, then kisses Jo on the cheek and smiles. “Sure am.”

Castiel would double over and lay down on the ground if he could. He wants to run, but he can't move. He feels Gabriel’s hand grip his shoulder, hears Sam growl “fucking idiot” from somewhere behind him, sees Jo mouth “what’s happening?” as she tries to pull away from Dean.

Castiel stands still for several moments, then rips the bracelet off of his wrist, drops it on the nearest table, and walks away.


	26. How we touched and went our separate ways

Castiel avoids the bungalow because he is worried there will be people there. He drives to the beach, the one he goes to with Dean when they look for turtles. While he sits alone in his beat up truck, Gabriel calls him and fills him in on what happened at the Café after Castiel left.

“So he’s looking for you,” Gabriel concludes. “Where are you?”

“He’ll find me,” Castiel tells his brother, then ends the call, leaves his shoes and phone in the car, and goes to the beach and waits.

______________________________

 

“Hey, Cas.”

Castiel is seated at the bottom of the gray, splintered steps when he hears Dean. It’s been at least two hours since he left the Café. He turns around and looks up at him, watches him shuffle down the stairs towards him.

“Hello Dean.”

“I’ve been trying to call you,” Dean says. “Can we talk about what happened?”

Castiel stands up and leans against the wood handrail. “I don’t see any point to that.”

“I told them Jo was just a friend.” Dean speaks anyway, grabs onto the opposite rail and faces Castiel. “You left, but I told all of them that she was just a good friend.”

Castiel nods. “I’m glad of that. For Jo’s sake.”

“That’s not all I said.”

“I know. Gabe called me.” Castiel looks away from Dean and out at the water.

Dean continues. “So then you know that I told them I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Castiel shrugs dismissively, repeats what Gabriel told him with a flat, detached tone. “Right. You don’t have a girlfriend and when you said you were in love you meant with the Café and the entire town of Rocket Beach.”

“Yeah.” Dean grins proudly, pleased with himself. “I also mentioned that I’m investing in the Café, so now I can be here all I want and no one will think twice about it. No one will question why we’re together all the time because they’ll know we’re business partners. Pretty great, right?”

“Clever,” Castiel says calmly. “Except that we’re not going to be together all the time.”

Dean furrows his brow. “Cas…”

Castiel cuts him off. “And we’re not going to be business partners.”

“Huh?”

Dean looks genuinely confused, and the thought that Dean has no idea what he has done only upsets Castiel more. “That’s over too.”

“Over _too?_ ” Dean finally seems to get it. His face falls, his shoulders drop. He looks panicked at first, then distressed. “No, Cas, listen to me. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t do it. Not that way. It didn’t feel right. Something was off. But I’m gonna do it. Just not like that. Not to a bunch of nosy reporters looking for their next fish to fry.”

When Castiel says nothing, Dean drops his head. They stand silent while Castiel decides whether or not to ask the question on the tip of his tongue.

“What did Benny say to you?” he finally says.

Dean looks up quickly.

Castiel goes on. “He said something to you before you started. I saw you shake your head. What did he say?”

“I don’t remember.”

“That’s a lie, Dean,” Castiel sighs.

“It doesn’t matter. It was nothing.”

“I’d like you to leave now. I'd like you to leave Rocket Beach.”

Dean shakes his head, reaches for Castiel’s arm, but Castiel jerks away from him and steps onto the sand. Dean follows him.  “I know you’re disappointed, but …”

“Disappointed? You think I’m _disappointed_?” Castiel has been holding back, keeping it in for the sake of decorum, but he can’t anymore. “I love you,” he shouts. “I am fucking in love with you. Disappointed doesn’t even scratch the surface.”

Dean’s whole body stiffens. His jaw drops, his eyes go wide. “What? No! Oh, no. Don’t you say that to me.” He shakes his head decisively, hold up his hand. “Don’t you dare tell me you love me for the first time and then end it in the same breath. What the fuck is that? Some kind of sick parting gift?”

Castiel is taken aback. He doesn’t recall specifically saying the words, but surely he has. He must have, at some point, told Dean how he feels. “What? No, that’s not…”

“Goddammit Cas. Please don’t. Don’t. Don’t.” Dean rubs his hand over his face.

“Christ, Dean. _I’m_ not doing anything.” Castiel sighs, then speaks more softly. “Can’t you see it’s already done?”

“No.” Dean’s voice breaks on the word. “I don’t see it that way. Not at all.”

Castiel sits down on the steps, looks up at Dean. “I’m not happy. I will never be happy your way, and you can’t be happy my way. You always knew that about me, and I guess, on some level, I always knew that about you. It’s time to cut our losses.”

“But the restaurant. We can still do that, can’t we?”

“No.”

“Cas, please, I can help you. Let me help get the construction started. I’ve got…”

“No.  I won’t do that either.”

“There you are.” Castiel and Dean both turn toward the raised voice coming from the top of the stairs. “Oh shit. I’m sorry guys I don’t want to interrupt, but Dean, you’ve gotta go. It’s getting a little crowded at the Café and now they’re following people around, starting to ask a bunch of questions. I was careful, but they’ll probably be here any second. And you don’t want to be…” Sam stops and surveys the tiny boardwalk area around him.

Castiel smirks. “You don’t want to be seen with me. So you should go.”

Dean sinks to his knees in front of Castiel. “Look at me.  Cas, please, look at me.” He bobs his head until he captures Castiel’s eyes with his. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay right here with you and smile for every fucking camera if that’ll fix things. I’ll stay right here with you, right now, if you tell me that I can stay forever.”

Castiel can’t seem to look away from Dean’s face, from the water pooling in the corner of his eyes, from the slight quiver of his bottom lip. He fights the all-consuming urge to pull him into his arms and accept his offer. Forever with Dean is all he wants. Forever with Dean is all he has imagined since the first time Dean walked into the Cafe. But not this way. He won’t force Dean to be someone he’s not ready to be.

“Just go,” Castiel whispers. “Go back to Hollywood. Go back to your life.”

Dean falls back on his heels and squeezes his eyes shut.  Castiel watches a drop fall from Dean's wet lashes, follows it's path down his cheek, past his lips, and under his chin.

“Uhm, Dean?” Sam sounds anxious and worried from the top of the stairs. “I really think we should go now.”

Dean opens his eyes and jumps to his feet, then leaves Castiel alone on the beach without another word.

____________________________

 

Rogue Wave Café is busy. Business has picked up exponentially with every day that passes since the picture of Dean in the Café, declaring his love for the restaurant, surfaced all over the tabloids and internet. Now, two weeks later, Gabriel is delighted and Castiel finds himself working thirteen and fourteen hours a day.

“We need to hire help.” Castiel tells Gabriel as they prepare for the morning service.

Gabriel nods. “I wish we had Sam back. He was great. But he won't be back for a few more weeks, according to Jo.”

“Then let's hire someone.”

Gabriel looks up from his prep task. “But we have to start construction in four weeks. We’ll be closed for at least a month once we start.”

“We won't be able to do that,” Castiel says while checking on the muffins in the oven. “I turned the Boca group down, and now they’ve moved on. They’ve put their money somewhere else."

“And there’s no one else?”

“I’ve been working all day every day. I don’t even have time to explore any options, but there are no obvious ones right now.”

“Right.” Gabriel sneers. “You bust your ass here with me all day and then you go home and watch your ex’s TV show all night long while you drain a bottle of whiskey.”

Castiel drops his head and sighs. “Lay off, Gabe…”

“I’m worried about you, Cas.”

“Well don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Of course.  You’re the absolute picture of fine, baby bro. Your eyes are blacker than Tebow’s grease paint, you smell like yesterday’s happy hour, and when was the last time you even shaved?”

Castiel scratches his chin. “I’m growing a beard. I needed a change.”

“Or your hand is too shaky to hold a razor.”

He can't fool Gabriel.  His brother knows him better than anyone, and loves him anyway.  “All right. Maybe I need more sleep,” Castiel admits. “Just worry about the business, Gabe. We have to hire some help, make some adjustments for now, and then we’ll get to the expansion when we can.”

“We can’t just put it off like that.”

Castiel looks at Gabriel sideways. “I know I fucked up. I’m sorry about the money thing, and I know you’re disappointed, but it will be okay if we wait a few more months. I will get us the money. I promise you, Gabe. I will.”

“I know, Cas. But the contract we have with your stalker has a deadline. If we don’t break ground on the improvements in a month, we’re in default.”

“What?” Castiel drops the plate in his hand and it shatters across the kitchen floor.

Gabriel purses his lips. “Wait. Why don’t you know this? You’re the one who handled all this. You’re the one who signed it.”

“I did. And that contract had no construction deadlines. None. Zero. I would never have put a deadline in there, we were still looking for money. Why do you think there’s a deadline?”

“Because I read it. Pam called to remind me about it, and I got a copy from her last week. It’s in the office. It has your signature on it, so I assumed it was kosher.”

“No.” Castiel shakes his head slowly, then slams his fist on the metal table. “He did something. Michael did something. Goddammit he did something. I should have known. I should have…”

“Hey, Cas. A little help out here?” Jo gestures to him to come out to the patio.

Cas looks at Gabriel. “Go, go.” Gabriel waves him away. “I’ll clean this up. We’ll talk later.”

______________________________

 

Gabriel gives Rachel a quick kiss on the lips before she leaves, then joins Castiel on the patio.

“You need to dial it back on the alcohol little brother.” Gabriel takes the whiskey bottle from the table and screws the top on while he sets it down on the floor by his feet. He sits across from Castiel and frowns at him.

“I’m such a fucking idiot.” Castiel sips from the tumbler in his hand.

“You’re not gonna get an argument from me, Hemingway.” Gabriel points to Castiel’s glass. “But the solution sure as hell ain’t in there.”

Castiel swirls the liquid in the glass, then puts it down and pushes it away.

“Attaboy. Now what’s up with the contract?  Did you get a chance to look at it?”

Castiel nods. “He set us up. Well, he set _me_ up. He planned this whole thing. I should’ve known, Gabe. He’s a goddamn genius with no moral compass. I should’ve known.”

“Michael?”

“Yes. I spoke to Pamela earlier. He was the one who made the offer on the property. He did it through one of his companies, to force our hand. To make us buy it. He knew we wanted to expand, he knew we needed that property.”

“You talked to him about the expansion?”

“Yes, I’m sure I did. A while ago, when I was in Jacksonville. Mentioned it was something you’d always wanted, something I wanted to help you make happen.”

“But we were going to get funding. He had nothing to do with you missing the meeting.”

“No, he didn’t. Pamela looked into that for me today. Turns out we weren’t going to get that money even if I hadn’t missed the meeting. Michael saw to that. The fact that I screwed up just made things simpler for him. I wasn’t only desperate for the money, I was also guilt-ridden. I made it so easy for him.”

Gabriel runs his fingers through his hair and Castiel sees it all falling into place for him. “And the well-timed letter. The info about your pops. All part of it?”

“Yes.”

“What about the contract?”

“The improvement clause was not in the contract I signed. He knew I was still looking for money. He altered the document.  He put it in there so I would have to come back to him for more money.”

“Well, then we fight it. We take it to court and we fight it.”

“Useless, Gabe. We can’t afford the lawyers, and I guarantee he has at least five witnesses lined up to say that the contract wasn’t altered. We’re fucked. Unless I call him and…”

Gabriel waves both of his hands. “Oh hell no, bro. That is not gonna happen. We’ll let all of this go before that happens. That psycho douche dick is not going to have any power over you, you get me?”

Castiel drops his face into his hands and shakes his head.

“Listen to me, Cas. It doesn’t matter. This is all just stuff, things, and in the long run, none of it matters.  You understand me?”  Gabriel reaches across the table and ruffles Castiel’s hair. “Maybe you should talk to Dean.”

Castiel lifts his head and glares at Gabriel. “No. I will not ask Dean for money.”

“I’m not talking about money,” Gabriel huffs. “I’m past the money shit.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you love him, but you’re too fucking proud to forgive him. I'm talking about how miserable you are. He made one mistake. Maybe you should give him a chance to…”

“One mistake? One mistake?” Castiel says a little more loudly than he intended.

“Yeah, bro, one. What else did he do?”

“He got engaged to Lisa.”

Gabriel shrugs. “So? That had nothing to do with you.”

“He did it right after we were together.”

“Right after what? Your two-day fling? Right after he asked to see you again and you told him no? Right after that?”

Castiel squints at Gabriel suspiciously.  “How do you know about that?”  

“Sam told me. Look, I know you’re hurt. I get that. But did you ever consider that maybe he was hurt too?”

“It was his choice…”

"Argh!"  Gabriel throws his head back in frustration, then blows a raspberry at Castiel. “Cas, I love you man. You are the best person I know. But you’re so hell-bent on not compromising, so afraid of falling back into whatever the fuck happened to your life in Jacksonville, that you place unreal expectations on anyone who wants in. That whole Lisa thing sucked, but Jesus, he dumped her, then dropped everything and came here when you needed him. And he stayed. He canceled things to stay here with you, Cas. He’s not the bad guy.”

“We want different things,” Castiel responds without thinking.

“Really? Seems to me you both want exactly the same thing. And you’re exhibit one. He left and you’ve gone all Kurt Cobain on me. Like I said, I’m worried, bro.”

“Gabe. Will you shut the fuck up if I shave?”

“Cas…”

Castiel wasn’t expecting this discussion, and he’s not ready for it. “No, I hear you. I do. I just want to not think about that now, all right? I want to save our restaurant. Let’s deal with that first.”

“Okie doke, brother.” Gabriel reluctantly agrees. “You can back burner it all you want, but it’s still there. But I’ll get off of your back if you end this pity party of one, shave that shit off of your beautiful little angel face, and put the brakes on the cocktails. Deal?”

“All right, Gabe. Deal.”

______________________________

 

The first thing Castiel does when he gets home is shower and shave. He rubs his newly smoothed cheek as he looks in the mirror. He tries not to think about the things Gabriel said to him earlier because goddammit if Gabriel isn’t always right.

He dresses in sweatpants and a T-shirt and goes for a walk on the beach. The problem he has to solve is the business. He has screwed things up completely, and Gabriel does not deserve to suffer these repercussions. He made promises to Gabriel about the Café, about their partnership, and he has no intention of letting him down one more time. They need money.  Money for the construction, as well as money to pay off the loan to get out from under the contract with Michael. Castiel knows exactly what he has to do. It’s the only way out, and Castiel hates it, despises it, would never consider it if it weren’t for Gabriel. He’ll do anything for Gabriel, to see to it that his dream comes true.  As he's said before, at least one of them should get to be happy.  His mind is made up, but even the comfort of the sand beneath his feet and the salt air he breathes in and out does nothing to ease the blow of this decision.

When he gets back to the bungalow he grabs his phone immediately, before he changes his mind. He checks the time, makes sure that it is not too late. He inhales deeply, then taps on the screen, and makes the call he knew he was going to have to make since he found out about the forged contract that morning.

“This is Cas,” he says into the phone when it is answered. “I need a favor, Pamela.  I need you to sell Hester’s home.”


	27. If you get lost you can always be found

When Castiel makes it clear that he does not want anyone to know that he is selling the house, particularly Gabriel, Pamela Barnes agrees to set up something she calls a pocket listing. She explains to him that it will be private, not advertised or listed on any real estate databases, and that she will reach out to other agents who have clients who may be interested and have the means to purchase the house.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Castiel?” Pamela holds a listing agreement in one hand, a pen in the other. “The Henriksen home is one of a kind, a unique piece of real estate. People have been asking me about it for years. I won’t have any trouble selling it, and we’ll get nothing less than asking. Maybe even more.”

“I know.” Castiel leans back in his chair, snatches the contract from her hand. “Let’s just get on with it.”

“Okay, dollface. There’s a good chance there will be multiple offers. It’s generally up to the buyer as to which offer to accept. Do you…”

“You decide.” He answers her question before she finishes asking it. “Just call me when it’s done, all right? I don’t want to know any details. I can’t. You can take care of everything. Just do it as quickly as possible.  Please.”

“Okay, hon.” Pamela smiles softly and hands Castiel the pen. “Look, I don’t know why you have to do this, and it’s none of my business, but if you change your mind at any time, just call me and we tear this contract up pronto. Okay?”

“All right,” Castiel says, then signs the contract, hands it to Pamela, and heads back to the Café.

______________________________

 

There are no more episodes left. Castiel has watched the entire series in a matter of weeks; nine years of Jake Remington and his younger brother driving around the country in a classic car, working the family business, saving people and hunting things, or something like that.

Castiel lies back in his bed, stares up at the ceiling. Even after fourteen hours of work, he is wide-awake, as he has found himself every night since Dean left. At least when he had whiskey as an aide, he managed to get a few hours of rest, but he made a promise to Gabriel about that, so as difficult as it is, he goes without.

He checks his phone. Dean hasn’t tried to contact him at all since he left. There has been no call, no text, no email, no Salinger quote. What he would do for a Salinger quote, or any quote, right now. And even though he knows that this is exactly what he told Dean to do – to return to his Hollywood life – Castiel can’t help but ache at the thought that he did it so effortlessly.

Castiel sighs. He rolls over onto his stomach, pushes his face into his pillow, and doesn’t sleep.

______________________________

 

Rufus Turner is a creature of habit. He comes to Rogue Wave Café every day by seven a.m. He sits at the same stool at the counter inside the restaurant. He eats a muffin, sometimes two, and reads the newspaper. He generally leaves mid-morning, but he comes back nearly every day at four in the afternoon, and picks up dinner to go.

So when Rufus is not at the Café by nine o’clock, Castiel notices. And worries. Rufus is never late, and when Castiel tells Gabriel he is going to go check on him, Gabriel shakes his head.

“He’s fine, Cas. He was here this morning, before you got here.” Gabriel’s attention remains on the food on the grill in front of him. He flips a few burgers before he looks up and points his spatula at Castiel. “He’s up to something. Said he had an idea and he would be back later.”

“An idea about what?”

“Don’t know. Gotta say, I’m a little scared.”

Castiel chuckles and shrugs, then returns to the indoor counter to find Rufus and Bobby, Bill and Sally, and two more of Rocket Beach’s active retirees lined up in front of him.

“We’re out of muffins,” Castiel announces to the group. “I haven’t had time to make more. It’s been way too busy for me to get back to the kitchen. Sorry, guys. Sorry, Rufus.”

Rufus beams. “And that is exactly why we’re here.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel looks at Bobby, at Rufus, then back at Bobby.

Rufus gestures towards the group with an arm wave, but Bobby is the one to respond “We’re reinforcements, son.”

“Reinforcements?” Gabriel has come out from the kitchen and wipes his hands on his apron as he takes his place beside Castiel.

“That’s right,” Rufus explains. “Bill and Sally met almost fifty years ago when they both worked for some fancy Boston restaurant. Bobby’s aunt owned and operated a small bakery in Sioux Falls. Back in the day, I worked at a few diners before I tended bar at Studio fifty-four. Do I need to go on?”

Gabriel looks at Rufus with awe. “Shitballs! Really Rufus? Studio fifty-four? You definitely need to go on. You and I are gonna have a chat, mi amigo. And you’re gonna spill.”

Rufus shakes his head. “Oh hell no, son. You don’t break a promise to Liza or else.” He pulls his finger across his neck in a slicing motion.

Bobby side-eyes Rufus. “Point is, you boys need help. And that’s what we aim to do. Now why don’t you go get us some of those fancy aprons you’re wearing so we can get this show on the road?”

Gabriel whacks Castiel on the back with his open hand. “You heard the man, little brother. Let’s get these fine new employees some aprons.”

______________________________

 

Even with the extra help at the Café, Castiel is weary. He is drained, completely exhausted when he hears the knock on his front door. He’s not expecting anyone, but it must be Gabriel because he’s the only one who comes to the bungalow these days. When he remembers that he has to actually get up and go to it since he started locking his door, at his brother’s insistence, he moans his annoyance but drags himself to his feet anyway and stumbles over to it.

“Just use your key next time, Gabe,” Castiel whines as he flings the door open, but it isn’t Gabriel on the other side. It is, instead, the last person he ever expected to see here.

“Benny?” Castiel’s shoulders tighten as the color leaves his face. His heart races as panic sets in. There is no good reason for Benny to be here. “Is Dean all right? Where is he? Where’s Dean.”

Benny narrows his eyes. “Dean’s fine sugar,” he says. “But you don’t look so hot. You been eatin’?”

Castiel exhales, relaxes slightly, but remains guarded. “Did he send you?”

“Dean? No. No, he didn’t. And to answer your question, I reckon he’s in Vancouver right now.”

“You reckon?” Castiel scoffs. “I was under the impression that you had his every movement mapped out.”

“I s’pose I deserve that.” Benny purses his lips, and nods. “You mind if I come in? I’m gettin’ bit out here. These Florida skeeters are fierce.”

Benny sees Castiel’s obvious hesitation. “I know you’ve got no reason to trust me, Cas, but I just need a few minutes.”

Castiel steps aside, allows Benny in. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Water, thank you.” His eyes dart around the open space. “Nice place you got here. I can see why Dean feels so at home here.”

“How is filming for the new season going?” Despite his discomfort, Castiel tries to sound as casual as possible, as if he is just making conversation and the answer is of no matter to him. But he knows that Benny knows that is not at all the case. He hands Benny a bottle of water and pulls out a chair at the dining room table, gestures for Benny to take a seat.

“I’m not sure. Dean and I, we, uh, parted ways.”

“Oh?”

“He fired me.” Benny sits in the designated chair while Castiel settles into the one across from him.

“I see. I’m sorry.” Castiel says the words out of courtesy, but makes no attempt at sincerity.

“Riiiight.” Benny draws the word out as he nods slowly. “Look, Castiel, I know you and me don’t exactly frost each other’s cupcakes. And I hear you don’t approve of what I’ve had to do.”

“I can’t get your job back for you, if that’s what you’re…”

Benny laughs. “You really have a low opinion of me, now, don’t you?  Well, I guess that’s your right.”

Castiel leans back in his chair, crosses his arms. “What can I do for you Benny? It’s getting late and it’s been a long day. I’ve been working nonstop since the little show you and Dean put on at the Café.”

“Business is booming? Three, four times your usual?”

“At the very least.”

“Well good, then.”

Castiel leans forward, lays his hands out on the table in front of him. “If you don’t work for Dean anymore, then why the hell are you here?”

“Not one for small talk, now, are you? Alright, alright, I’ll get on with it.” Benny stands up and digs into his front pants pocket, pulls out a closed fist, then sits back down. “I brought you this.” He opens his hand, drops something on the table and pushes it toward Castiel.

It takes a moment for Castiel to realize that it’s a bracelet, another to see that it’s the one Dean gave him. He thought he’d never see it again after he left it on a table at the Café. He clamps his lips together, contains the smile trying to take them over. He had assumed it was now in the possession of one of those photographer-slash-journalists, grateful only that whoever had it had no idea where it came from or what it meant.

“Thought you might have some second thoughts about letting that go.” Benny dips his bottle toward the leather bracelet then sips from it. “By the look on your face, I’d say I called that one just about right.”

“You knew about the bracelets?” Castiel asks and Benny nods.

“He still wears his. Don’t think it’s coming off any time soon. The man’s pining away like nobody’s business.”

Something stirs inside Castiel, causes an involuntary shiver. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s my fault. I’m takin’ responsibility for my part. Don’t get me wrong, I was his manager for ten years, and I’m a damn good one. He’s respected and well-liked in the industry, so I’ve done my job. But I want you to know, I’ve never had any problem with you and Dean havin’ a happily ever after. Not a one. Dean is my priority, and it’s my – it _was_ my job to make sure he gets what he wants without derailing his career. That’s what he paid me for. And yes, sometimes that requires some withholding of information. It is what it is.”

“Dean has explained all that to me,” Castiel says. “What happened between Dean and I wasn’t about you.”

“He promised you he was gonna make some grand proclamation at the Café and then he didn’t. He hurt you. It was humiliating. I get it.”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

Benny sighs, shakes his head slowly. “I’m tryin’ to apologize here, tryin’ to set the record straight.”

“Then tell me what you said to him. Right before he spoke to the reporters, you whispered something to him. What did you say?”

“I did.” Benny nods, remembering. “I advised him that they were going to destroy you.”

Castiel’s head jerks back, his tired eyes open wide.

“I’d been telling him that it was all too soon. That the timing wasn’t right and things need to be hand fed to them over time, and with little bitty baby spoons. Those paparazzi types were all just looking for someone to crucify, someone to blame for the Lisa breakup, and other things. I just reminded him one last time before he said something he couldn’t take back. Before they all turned their clickers on you and it was your face plastered all over the gossip rags and internet.”

“You used me to manipulate Dean.”

“You can see it that way if you’re so inclined, but I wasn’t lying. I’ve never lied to Dean, and he knows that. I stand by what I did, because it was my job, and it was the best thing to do for Dean’s career. Turns out, though, now that it’s all been said and done, that maybe it wasn’t the best thing for my friend. And make no mistake, Dean is my friend.”

“Hard to fathom.”

Benny ignores Castiel’s remark. “That’s why I needed to talk to you. Not as his manager, as his friend. I know you think he did you wrong, Cas, but I came here from L.A. to let you know that he was trying to do right by you. That’s all he’s ever done as far as I can see, because damn, that man loves you something awful.”

Benny stands again, reaches into his shirt pocket and drops a folded envelope on the table. “He’ll be attending a con this weekend. One of those conventions with fans of the show. Starts tomorrow, in New York City. That there’s an airline ticket, along with all the information you need and a couple of special passes that’ll get you anywhere you might want to be. Use ‘em, don’t use ‘em. Up to you.”

Castiel sits quietly when Benny walks to the door and opens it. “Thanks for hearing me out. And Cas?”

Castiel looks up at him.

“I know he’s an actor, had to grow up pretending just to get by, but deep down, Dean doesn’t really know how to be anybody other than who he is. So if for some reason that’s not gonna work for you, promise me you’ll toss that envelope straight in the trash.”

Castiel nods once and Benny leaves, closing the door behind him.

He doesn’t know when he picked it up, doesn’t remember when he began to absently stroke it in his hand, but he feels the raised design on the metal and thinks about things he’s been trying so hard not to.

Gabriel was right about him. He was scared. After Michael, he rejected everything associated with Jacksonville, including the practice of law, the career that he had worked long and hard for and had at one time loved. He became judgmental; critical and unyielding. He was so afraid of his own weaknesses that he rejected any flaw, all imperfections in the one man who was willing, without question, to accept all of his. Dean never stood a chance.

He smoothes the leather band between his fingers before he wraps it around his wrist, secures it with the snap, and goes to his bedroom closet to find his duffel bag.


	28. All that you need is in your soul

“I have to go to New York.”

Castiel makes the announcement as soon as he gets to the Café and finds Gabriel working alone in the kitchen.

“Yeah? That sounds nice.” Gabriel doesn’t look up from his prep task, and his tone is much too casual. “Hey, why don’t you check out the muffins Bobby made. They’re great. May even be better than yours, baby bro.”

Something’s up. This is not the reaction he expects from his brother. “I said I’m going to New York City.”

Gabriel nods. “I got it. Don’t worry. Everything’ll be fine, here. Our senior staff will take up your slack.”

“Gabe, what’s going on?”

Gabriel glances at him, shrugs. “Nothing. I’m just working here on my _mise en place_. Why don’t you give me a hand.”

“And you’re not going to ask me why I’m going to New York? Or when? Or for how long?”

“Oh, sorry kiddo.” Gabriel offers a broad, forced smile. “So, why are you going to New York? And when? And how long will you be there?”

Castiel’s arms fold across his chest. “How do you already know?”

“I don’t know what you’re…” Gabriel drops his knife with a clank and ends the charade. “Okay, Benny Lafitte called me yesterday. Checking on you. He asked if it would hurt the Café if you took a couple days off.”

“You and Benny Lafitte are friends?”

“Meh. But we did spend the whole day together cooking for Hester’s memorial while you and lover boy were hiding out in St. Augustine. He’s kinda funny once you get to know him. Dude’s got a limerick for everything.”

“Yet another of his useful skills.” Castiel goes to Gabriel’s prep table and helps him lay out the bowls and containers for his _mise en place._

“So, what are you going to say when you see him?” Gabriel asks, then points to the peppers he has already sliced into narrow strips. Castiel hands him the cutting board, and Gabriel scrapes them off and into a square bowl.

“I don’t really know,” Castiel says. “I haven’t quite thought it all through.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe that’s part of the problem. That beautiful mind noggin of yours, thinking all the damn time. Thinking and rethinking and then outthinking your own damn thinky thoughts.”

“That was an extremely well-crafted sentence.”

“Yeah, well we can’t all be ‘A’ students schoolhouse rock.”

Castiel laughs at Gabriel, but admits to himself that he is probably right. He has no idea what, if anything he is going to say to Dean. He hasn’t changed his mind about where he draws the line, but with Benny out of the picture, he owes it to Dean to hear what he has to say, to find out what Dean truly wants for himself.

“Look, all I’m telling you to do is turn off the big brain and the little brain for once, and listen to whatever tune that thing drumming in your chest is trying to play.” Gabriel pauses. “And don’t be afraid to tell him you miss him.”

Castiel grunts sofly, then smiles. “Yes. I do miss him.”

“Hell, so do I. Even Bobby misses him. Tell him we all miss him.” Gabriel pats Castiel’s shoulder. “You do what you’ve gotta do, brother. We’ll be good here.”

“Hmmm, hmmm.” Rufus clears his throat to get their attention. He and Bobby stand side by side at the kitchen entrance. “You have a nice trip Cas, we’ve got things taken care of here. Right Bobby?”

“Sure do.” Bobby nods, then glances around the room and shifts from one foot to the other. “We uh, have something else to talk to you boys about.”

“We, Bobby and I, have a…presentation.” The two men come forward and stand across the stainless steel table from Castiel and Gabriel.

“A presentation?” Gabriel smirks. “Oh, this should be good.”

Rufus shoots Gabriel a dirty look before he speaks. “We, Bobby and I and a few of the others down at the club, we’ve formed a little nonprofit. Our goal is to support local businesses, help them grow. We want to get Rocket Beach back on the map. Bring in some new blood. Some younger blood.”

“Local businesses?” Gabriel asks.

Rufus nods. “Well, currently our focus is on _this_ business in particular.”

“And this nonprofit is called…?”

“The Alliance for Growth and Economic Development.”

“The AGED? You can’t be serious.” Castiel grins, shakes his head. “That’s really kind of great.”

“What?” Bobby looks at Rufus, who is as bewildered as he is. “What are you talking about boy?”

“The letters spell out…” Castiel stops when he realizes that the acronym was not intentional. “No, uh, nothing. Never mind.”

“Anyway, we want to give you this.” Bobby takes a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and hands it to Gabriel. “Our first grant. That there should get things started. With the building and all.”

Gabriel opens the paper, raises his brows when he sees it. “Whoa, cowboys! A hundred and ten thousand dollars? We can’t take this.” Gabriel folds the check in half and shoves it back toward Bobby.

Bobby holds up his hands and shakes his head. “No, no no. You boys need this. We, the Alliance, we consider this a well-placed investment, not only in the revival of our town, but in you two boys.”

Castiel clasps his hands together, nips at his bottom lip. He doesn’t want to be too hopeful, but if they use this money for the first phase of construction, they won’t be in breach of the mortgage contract and Castiel will not have to sell Hester’s house. At least not yet. Gabriel looks at Castiel, questioning. Castiel nods.

“Okay,” Gabriel holds the check up between his fingers. “We’ll accept this, but not as a grant. We’re gonna treat this as a buy-in.”

“A buy-in?” Bobby asks.

“Yes. This in exchange for equity in our business. We can hammer out the deets when Casanova gets back from New York. Acceptable?”

Bobby snorts, looks briefly at Rufus. “Is it the only way you will take the money?”

“The only way.”

“Then it’s acceptable,” Bobby says, and Rufus nods.

While Gabriel shakes their hands, Castiel excuses himself. He slips out the back door and calls Pamela Barnes.

“Don’t sell the house,” Castiel bellows into the phone. “I don’t have to sell it. “

There is no sound, no response from the other end of the line.

“Pamela, did you hear me? I said…”

“Yes, yes. I heard you. It’s just, I’ve already sold it.”

“Undo it.”

“I told you it would be quick. Cas…”

“I said undo it.” The demand he makes is hollow, empty.  He knows by Pamela's voice that nothing can be done.

“I can’t, sweetie. Not this time. We’ve already closed. You said you didn’t want to know. I used the power of attorney you gave me. I was going to call you later. I have a check for you.”

“No.”

“I’m so sorry, Castiel.” Pamela’s voice is uncharacteristically soft in her attempt to soothe him. “But we did get twenty percent over asking. Your check here, it’s a big one. Enough to do whatever it is you have to do.”

“Are you sure?”

“You were so adamant. If I had known you might change your mind, I would have called first.”

“No, Pamela, you did exactly what I asked you to do.” Castiel speaks lowly. “Please don’t let Gabe know…”

“Just how goddamn much you love him? Of course not. My fire engine red lips are sealed.”

______________________________

 

The room Benny lined up for him is nice. The hotel is new, smaller and quainter than he had envisioned, despite the clean-lined, modern décor. According to the note in the envelope with the passes, the convention is at the Waldorf, but it was booked full, so Benny arranged his stay at the Quin, which is closer to Central Park, only a few blocks over and a short walk away from Dean.

Castiel tosses his duffel bag on the bench at the foot of the bed and plops down onto the mattress. It’s only eight in the evening, and he considers calling Dean, letting him know that he is here, but it’s been a long day and he is sleepy and he still has no idea what he will say. He gets up to brush his teeth, but when he sees the extra deep bathtub, he thinks that a hot bath may be just what he needs. He fills it and sinks into the near scalding water, ducks most of his head below the surface, and listens silently to the rhythm of his beating heart.

______________________________

 

Coffee must be the official drink of New York City. Not only is there an espresso machine in his room, there are Starbucks on every corner, sometimes two, and, just in case you can’t wait to get from one corner to the next for a refill, there are street vendors in between.

Castiel didn’t pack very well. It was quite cool when he got in last night, in the mid sixties, and he didn’t bring any kind of jacket or sweater. It’s still officially summer, although fall is only days away, and as the sun climbs higher into the sky, it gets warmer, but even the high temperatures here are fifteen to twenty degrees lower than what he is used to. He layers a button down shirt over a T-shirt, and hopes that the dress code for these convention things is casual.

Dean had mentioned the cons to him once, told him that he did them only for the fans. He loved posing for the pictures, although he felt odd being paid for that, since without the fans there wouldn’t even be a show. But it was the interviews, the panel questions that often made him uncomfortable. He felt like he had to watch what he said and how he said it, that even though he was being asked, he really wasn’t free to give his own opinion on matters pertaining to the show. The questions about his personal life were more awkward. Even though they weren’t supposed to be, these cons often ended up as another acting job for Dean.

Vente coffee in hand, Castiel walks to the Waldorf Astoria on Park Avenue. He’s never been here before, and it is exactly what he expected it to be. Spacious, luxurious, traditional, and today it is also crowded. The lobby is full of people, many of whom are there for _The Unnatural_ convention, and an overwhelming majority of them are women. Castiel can’t help but smile when he sees people dressed as characters from the show, and he occasionally giggles under his breath at the various female versions of Jake Remington. He retrieves the passcard Benny gave him from his pocket, pulls the attached cord over his head and lets it fall against his chest as he makes his way to the room where Dean’s panel for the day will soon begin.

__________________________________

 

Tucked away in the back behind cameras and hanging posters and lights, and everything else he can find to possibly hide behind, Castiel sits and waits for the panel to begin. Benny was right about the pass he gave him. He is nodded at and waved into the room without question, allowed to sit wherever he pleased. The space is full, the theater style seating allowing for a capacity crowd.

Thunderous applause and what Castiel deems to be a premature standing ovation welcome Dean and his co-star to the small stage. Dean adores Jared, the man who plays his younger brother Joey on the show, and Castiel knows that Dean much prefers to be on the stage when Jared is there with him.

After the introductions and some banter between Dean and Jared, they move on to questions from the audience. They seem easy enough. Jared answers several questions about his wife and kids, while Dean deflects questions about Lisa by making jokes and changing the subject.

“So does anyone have a question about the show?” Dean asks, rolling his eyes after averting yet another question about the breakup with Lisa. “In case y’all didn’t know, I play Jake Remington on the show.”

The audience laughs, and several people step forward.

“What does ‘never not fantastic’ mean?” A young woman asks, leaning into the microphone set up in the corner of the room.

“Now that’s a good question.” Dean points and nods his approval. “I’ve been asked this before, and I usually just say I don’t know. But I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately. About what it means to Jake, what it means to me.”

Castiel leans forward in his seat, tries to get an unobstructed view of Dean’s face.  Dean appears relaxed and calm; there is no sign of discomfort.

“No one ever told me,” Dean continues, his tone sincere, easy. “I mean, the writers never said, oh Jake always says that and it means this. But he’s been saying it for years now, and it’s developed a certain meaning. It has _for me_ , anyway. I feel that it’s his way of expressing a sort of inner peace with what's happening when he’s in some, let’s call them, less than ideal situations. He doesn’t believe in fate, or destiny or whatever, but it’s like he’s saying that even when everything is turning to crap, he’s surrendering to his life, to the journey he has chosen for himself, and regardless of what’s going on around him, he's where his very soul belongs, he's who he wants to be.” Dean wraps the fingers of his right hand around the leather bracelet on his left wrist.

“Wow. That sounds really nice,” Jared says.

“It is,” Dean agrees, rubbing the metal plate. “And I like to believe that regardless of the current situation, it brings him contentment, like a genuine, deep-seated happiness, that no being, human or supernatural, can take away from him. Not without one helluva fight, anyway.”

The room is quiet for a few moments before it erupts into applause. Dean shakes his head, gestures with his hands for them to stop, and they eventually do.

“What’s on your bracelet?” Someone dressed as Joey Remington calls out, and Dean stops touching it, then holds his arm up to display it.

“It’s a sea turtle,” he says.

“Do you like turtles?”

“I do.” Dean turns and looks at Jared, who grins and winks at him. “I love them, actually. Saw them in real life for the first time not that long ago. This summer. I spent some time at the beach, with a friend of mine, and one night we watched a turtle make her nest and lay her eggs.” Dean dips his head, and even from the back of the room, Castiel can see a blush crawl up his neck as he scratches it. “It was pretty incredible. Something I’ll never forget. Something I’ll always…”

The words end there, although it is clear that Dean wants to say something else. He holds the microphone up and opens and closes his mouth a few times.

“Are you talking about where that restaurant is? Do you have a girlfriend there?”

Castiel can’t tell where the questions come from, but he sees Dean shake his head gently.

“I, uh, think that’s all the time we have.” Jared steps over to Dean and pats him on the back.

There is a collective “awww” among the crowd as they stand and clap. Castiel slides out of the back door and into the next room which is set up for photographs on one side, autographs on the other, with tables of _The Unnatural_ merchandise for sale in the middle. It’s amusing to him, to see Dean’s face – Jake Remington’s face – plastered all over shirts and mugs and buttons and bags. He buys a long sleeved T-shirt that doesn’t have a picture on it but instead says something about hunting and “The Family Business,” tucks it under his arm and goes to the end of the very long autograph line.

At first he hopes that Dean sees him, that he won’t have to wait for his turn to speak to him, but three of the people directly in front of him are wearing angel costumes with over-sized black wings, and it is all he can do to keep from being knocked over by them, let alone see past them. By the time he reaches the front of the line and sees Dean sitting behind the table with Jared a few feet away from him, each of them flanked by two very official looking women and one extremely large man, he’s glad it will be a surprise.

“Uh.” He was going to ask for his autograph, but once there he notices that the tables are empty and that he was supposed to bring something for Dean to sign. “Hello, Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s mouth drops open when he sees him. “You’re here,” he mumbles faintly.

“I am.”

“Do you have something for him to sign?” one of the women asks him as she moves directly behind Dean.

“No, I’m afraid I…forgot that. Sorry.”

The woman frowns, then points to the folded shirt Castiel holds under his arm. “What about that? He could sign that for you.”

Castiel pulls his brows together. “My shirt?” he protests. “No, I just bought this! It’s brand new.”

The woman sighs, exasperated, and Dean grins, licks his lips.

“Hey,” Dean grabs Castiel by the hand, turns his arm over and pushes up his sleeve. He smiles when he sees the bracelet on Castiel’s wrist, brushes it with his fingers while he looks up at Castiel. “I could always write it here, if you’d like.” Dean has his marker poised over the underside of Castiel’s forearm.

“All right,” Castiel responds. “I suppose that would work.”

“Did you see the panel?” Dean asks, and Castiel nods.

“Tell him your name.” The woman directs Castiel, but Dean is already scribbling on his arm. Dean pulls the shirt fabric back down when he is finished.

“Do you want Jared’s autograph too?” she asks.

“No, no thanks,” Castiel says, and he backs away from the table as the woman waves him off and the person in line behind him takes his place.

As soon as he is outside the door and back in the lobby of the hotel, Castiel pushes his sleeve up and reads what Dean has written.  He halts abruptly, catches his breath.  He sees on his skin the answer to the question he once asked Dean, the question that has been in his head since it was first posed by Michael.

_we are_  
_never not fantastic_


	29. Now everything is easy ‘cause of you.

Castiel reminds himself not to overanalyze Dean’s message.  As Gabriel aptly pointed out, he has a tendency to do that.  He leaves the Waldorf, walks around the city for a while, then gets a sandwich from a deli and takes it to Central Park.

It’s a beautiful day, weather slightly warm with no trace of the humidity or mugginess he is accustomed to in Florida. He finds an empty bench along the Mall where he can sit and eat.  It’s there, in the shade of the elm tree canopy that he receives a text from an unknown number.

_Bet u hvn’t blocked ths # yet_

It can only be Dean.  Castiel swallows the last bit of his sandwich and grins, wondering when Dean started using that annoying text language.

 _That is still an option._ He teases back.  _Who is this?_  

_Save ths # in ur phne as “Princess” & thn I’ll tell u._

Castiel makes a face.  He thought it was Dean.  He doesn’t respond, and after a couple of minutes, another text comes in.

_It’s Sam. in NY w/D.  I hve D’s phone.  He has to get a new # evry 6 mos.  U shd hve the new #._

Castiel nods, even though Sam can’t see him, and saves the number.  _Done_

_Ok Cas.  Glad ur here.  Balls in ur court now._

______________________________

Castiel knows Dean’s schedule because Benny included it in the package.  According to Dean’s former manager’s notes, he will be done with the convention for the day by seven, but Benny has written “local affiliate interviews” from seven p.m. to ten p.m., followed by a question mark.

Dean is busy now.  With things called “photo ops” and autograph sessions and whatever else the other handwritten abbreviations in the margins stand for. He sends a text, hoping that Dean has time in-between these things to reply.

_Are you free at all tonight?_

He doesn’t have to wait for Dean’s response. It comes almost immediately _._

_I can be.  What time?_

Castiel wants to take Dean to dinner, walk around the city with him and talk.   He wants to take Dean out on a date.

 _You tell me_. _Eight? Dinner?_

_I’m there. Where?_

Castiel thinks about it for a minute before he decides. _Meet me at corner of Mulberry and Grand._

_Can’t wait._

______________________________

 

Manhattan is home to many award-winning chefs and some of the most world-renowned restaurants, but Castiel firmly believes that Little Italy is the best place to eat in all of New York City. Whenever he comes here, which admittedly, has not been often, he goes to the neighborhood and finds another small, family-owned restaurant to try.  He has yet to be disappointed.

He probably should have bought himself a jacket while he was out today, but personal shopping is another thing that he has avoided like plague since he returned from Jacksonville.  He tucks a clean button up shirt into his belted jeans, dons a plaid tie and thin, dark fitted cardigan. 

He arrives by cab first, early, anxious, and waits, but he’s not there long when a non-descript black Mercedes sedan pulls up beside him.  Dean hops quickly out of the rear passenger side door and waves the car away.

Dean whistles at him as he approaches, then flashes a broad smile.  He looks good in tan jeans and a peacoat, and Castiel realizes that besides the suits they wore to Hester’s funeral, they have never really seen one another dressed in anything other than beachside casual.

“I want to kiss you right now,” Dean says, then turns his head left to right and Castiel thinks for one brief second that he is going to do it.

“So where are we going?”  Dean asks.  “I probably shouldn’t stand here in one place for too long.”

That’s right.  Dean is a television star.  People will recognize him.  Castiel forgets that from time to time, especially in moments when it is just the two of them.  Celebrity Dean is someone he really doesn’t know, a virtual stranger to him. 

“Is it safe for you out here?  Without one of your, uh, what do you call them?”

“Handlers?”  Dean frowns. “I’ve told you, I don’t have handlers.”

“Bodyguard.  I meant bodyguard.  Like the one today at the autograph table.”

“I don’t have one of those either, although sometimes I use Jared’s.”  Dean seems mostly unconcerned about being in public.  “This is New York City, people are used to seeing actors and people way more famous than me on the street.  They usually leave us alone.  As long as we’re moving, no crowds will gather and we’ll be just fine.”

“I guess I need to learn these things,” Castiel mumbles, and Dean grins.  “All right, then, let’s walk, and when we see a restaurant that looks interesting, we’ll stop. Sound good?”

“Sounds great, Cas.”

They walk side by side in silence, and they don’t get very far before Dean stops and points to a street sign ahead of them. Castiel looks where Dean directs, and laughs.

“Hester Street?”  Dean asks.  “Oh, come on now.  We _have_ to find a place to eat there, don’t you think?”

“I think we have no choice,” Castiel agrees. “It’s serendipity.”

The restaurant they choose on Hester Street is a converted basement, several steps below street level.  “Ah, yes, we’ve made a good choice,” Castiel says once they step inside and he takes in the surroundings.

“You can tell already?”

Castiel nods once.  “How does it smell to you Dean?”

Dean takes in a long, deep breath.  “Heavenly.”

“Yep.  And look around.  Many of the patrons here are speaking Italian.  Italians know where to go for the best Italian food.”

Dean licks his lips.  “Okay Sherlock.  Anything else?”

“The two servers resemble one another and are very likely related, so it’s family run, as I’d hoped.  And the sign with today’s special. ‘Cavatelli with beef and pork gravy.’  Instead of sauce they use the term gravy.  They’re traditional.”

“Impressive, Cas,” Dean says, then removes his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack by the door.  “I’m starved.  Let’s sit.”

Although the entire place has an air of intimacy due to its small size and dim lighting, they sit in the farthest corner possible, away from the other tables.  It is Dean who starts the conversation once they are seated.

“I’m glad you’re here.”  Dean says from across the somewhat cramped table for two. “Surprised as hell, but very glad. How did you even know about this thing?  Please tell me you haven’t been googling again.”

“No, I’ve learned my lesson with the googling.” Castiel sips from the water a server has placed in front of him.  “Benny came by and encouraged me to come.  He gave me some kind of a pass.   And a voucher for airfare.”

“Benny?”  Dean wrinkles his forehead.  “Huh. Well, whaddya know. And that’s it? That’s all he did?”

“We talked.”

“Oh.  So then you know that he’s no longer my manager.”

“I do.”

Their waiter, a young man wearing a black vest and bowtie, comes to their table and describes the specials in exceptional detail. Castiel asks for his recommendations, which he heartily provides, and they place their orders based on his advice.

“The servers always know what’s good,” Castiel points out. “I usually order based entirely on their suggestions.”

“What did Benny want from you, Cas?” Dean waits until after the waiter has left their table to resume their discussion. 

“I don’t believe he wanted anything from me. He came as your friend, not your manager. “

“What do you mean?”

“He returned my bracelet.  I had taken it off, left it at the Café after…when I walked away. He picked it up and kept it for me, which I am thankful for.  And he claimed that he was responsible for what happened there.”

“Well, he’s not.”  Dean shakes his head.  “I fired Benny, but there’s no way I can blame him for what I did to you. That’s on me.”

Castiel sighs. “Dean, you didn’t tell me what he said to you. You never told me that you were trying to protect me.  Don’t you think I deserved to know that?”  

“It sounded like an excuse, and to be honest, I wasn’t really sure you wanted to hear that.  But I do know that I didn’t want to see you hurt.  I didn’t want to see you hounded and labeled and criticized for things that have nothing to do with you. And when I was standing there at the Café in front of them, watching them watch my every move and listening to every ridiculous word out of my mouth, Benny told me again that they would blame you. There was no doubt in my mind that he was right, that that’s what would have happened if I had come out then and there. They would have blamed _you_. And suddenly, I didn’t want those people to know anything about us.  Or about you.”

“You mean destroy me.  He told you they would destroy me.”

“Yeah.”  Dean drops his chin. 

The waiter returns with two glasses of wine and a basket of freshly baked bread along with a bowl of whipped butter. They thank him simultaneously, and Dean watches the server walk away, then leans over the table toward Castiel, lowers his voice.

“I couldn’t be the cause of that, I couldn’t put you through that.  I tried so damn hard to _not_ cause you any pain that I ended up doing nothing but that and I’m just…so sorry I did that to you, Cas. I’m so, so sorry.”

Castiel unfolds his napkin and lays it across his lap. “I know.  I’m not without fault here.  I should have trusted you more, but I was intractable, expecting so much of you while at the same time refusing to ask anything of you. That wasn’t fair.  Not to you, or even to me.”

Dean squeezes his lips together.  “So where does that leave things for you?”

Castiel tilts his head and looks at Dean, notices the twitch of his upper lip, the flutter of his thick lashes, the pinkish bloom spreading across his cheeks.  Dean the actor is arcane, unreadable, but Dean the man wears his heart on his sleeve.

“I never wanted any grand gestures from you Dean. I don’t need you to go on television or issue a press release about us to make this real.  I know what is true, and what is true is that I love you wholly and absolutely.”

Dean makes a small noise when he exhales. “I love you too, Cas. I love you so much.”

“Your life is public, I know that.  I accept that. And I don’t care about what any reporters or photographers or anyone else has to say about it.  I don’t care if they want to blame me, or put my picture in some magazine.  They can photoshop horns on my goddamn head and it won’t matter, because it just doesn’t. What I do want, Dean, is to be a part of _your_ life, however you’ll have me.  Whatever that journey you were talking about today entails?  I want in.  Please, let me in, because that is where _my_ soul belongs. That is where _I_ want to be.”

Dean’s lips curl up slowly.  “Never not fantastic,” he says and to Castiel, the words are not Jake Remington’s punchy motto or endearing catch phrase anymore. To him, they are a vow.

Dean lays his arm out on the table, palm up, offers Castiel his hand.  Castiel’s eyes widen and he hesitates, scans the busy restaurant.

“Dean.” 

“Don’t leave me hanging here.” He wiggles his fingers, and Castiel discreetly slides his hand over Dean’s.  

They stay like that throughout the meal.  They both eat one-handed, and it’s slow and a little messy at times, but neither one is willing to be the first to let go, until the check arrives, when Castiel drags his hand away to pay the bill. 

After dinner, Castiel insists they hail a taxi to Grand Central Station, so they do. 

“Are we taking a train somewhere?”  Dean asks when they arrive.  “I like trains.”

“No.  There’s something here I want to show you.  Something few people know about.”

Castiel leads Dean to the lower level of the Terminal, directs him to an archway in front of a popular bar and restaurant. Dean is recognized twice on the way there, and Castiel steps aside while he graciously says hello and poses for a quick cell phone photo with each fan.

“You stand here, in this corner.”  Castiel guides Dean face first toward the inside corner where two of the arches meet.

“Have I been a bad boy?”  Dean pretends to pout.  “Why do I have to stand in the corner?  If I need to be punished, I have some more interesting ideas about how you can do that.”

Castiel tries not to laugh “Are you asking me to spank you?”

Dean jerks his head back.  “No!  Maybe?  If I was, is that something you might be, uh, up for?”  Dean lifts his brows, tips his head at Castiel.

“We can discuss that later, Dean.”  Castiel pushes Dean back into place. “Now stay here in this corner, facing the wall, and listen.”

Castiel goes across the hall, takes the same position in the corner at the opposite end of the arch, at least thirty feet away from Dean. His back to Dean, he leans in and speaks into the wall.

“Hello Dean.”

“Cas?  I can hear you perfectly!”  Dean’s enthusiasm cannot be contained.

“Our voices carry through the arch. We can hear each other, even if we whisper.”

“This is fucking awesome.”

“It’s an acoustic effect,” Castiel tells Dean from the other side of the arch.  “An anomaly, really, resulting from the architectural design.  The low, domed ceiling, the stone construction, the tiles, they all create this chamber.  It’s called a whispering gallery, because as long as we speak quietly, no one else can hear.”

“Then you should whisper something. Tell me a secret. Say something quietly that you only want me to hear.”

“You first.”

There is silence, a short pause before Castiel hears Dean’s voice again.  “I’d never been in love before you.  Cas, you’re my very first love.”

Castiel twists his head and body around slightly, tries to see Dean across the underpass and over his shoulder, but Dean stays straight and still in the corner, his face pushed up to the wall, patiently waiting for Castiel’s confession.

“And you, Dean, you are my very last love.”

 ______________________________

 

The date Castiel had originally planned was to end with a trip to the Empire State Building’s one-hundred and second floor observatory, followed by a leisurely walk back to their respective hotels and perhaps a subdued kiss goodnight.  Those plans were scrapped after the whispers shared at Grand Central, and they catch another cab in order to get back to Castiel’s hotel as quickly as possible.

“I’m going to fucking explode,” Dean grumbles lowly into Castiel’s ear while they sit huddled together in the back of the taxi, Castiel now draped in Dean’s peacoat.  “If you are not naked and inside me in the next ten minutes.”

Fortunately, the hotel is not far and traffic is not horrible and they are in Castiel’s room not too long past Dean’s declared deadline, making up for lost time. 

 ______________________________

 

“Oh my god, Cas!  You’ve got to try this!”

Castiel doesn’t want to open his eyes. He wants to stay in bed with Dean, go back to sleep. But the smell of coffee is glorious, and Dean is making a lot of strange pleasure noises while trying to cram something sugary into Castiel’s mouth, so reluctantly, he cracks them open, one at a time.

“What is it?”  Castiel barely gets the question out before Dean succeeds. Castiel bites and chews whatever it is.

“It’s a cronut.  They’re the big food thing here these days.  You have to go to this French dude’s bakery, wait in line for hours, and even then you can only get two.”

Castiel pulls himself up and looks at the plate balanced on Dean’s sheet-covered lap.  “You have four.”

Dean looks pleased.  “I know, right?”

“How did you…?”

“This hotel is great.  I just called downstairs, told them who I was, asked about cronuts, and then an hour later,” he waves his hand over the plate, “here they are.”

“You used your celebrity to get us doughnuts?”

“No!  They’re cronuts, not doughnuts.  Big difference.”  Dean offers another bite to Castiel, which he takes without hesitation because these things are delicious.  “And they just did it for me.  Brought us coffee too.  I didn’t ask them to or anything.  I promise you, I tipped them big. Huge.  No one’s complaining.”

“Pretty sure Bobby could make these.” Castiel eats and speaks at the same time.  “There’s bakery in his blood.  His muffins are better than mine.”

“What?  Police Chief Bobby?  No way.”

“It’s true.  And I’m glad because I’ve been thinking about cutting back at the restaurant.”

“Need some time off?”

“No, it’s not that.”  Castiel helps himself to more of the croissant-doughnut hybrid.  “I’ve been thinking about, maybe, starting to practice law again.  Part time.  Just a little, you know.  See how it goes. What do you think?”

“I think that’s great.  I already know for a fact that you are an excellent defense attorney.  I can vouch for that.”

“I don’t know if I still can, but I used to really enjoy it.  Before I met Michael.  And when I saw Sam studying, it made me think about it and I…” Castiel shrugs.   “I just, miss it.”

“Then do it.”

“Speaking of doing it…”

Dean’s mouth quirks as he nods slowly, suggestively.

“Don’t you have to be back at your convention thing today?”

Dean throws his head back and groans. “Argh!  I don’t want to.  But yes.  I have to be on stage in less than three hours.”

“If you don’t like them, why do you do them?”

“I only do a couple a year.  I do it for the fans, I guess.  And for charity.”

“For charity?”

“Yeah.”  A few crumbs fall from Dean’s open mouth.  Castiel reaches over and wipes away the sugar on Dean’s bottom lip with his thumb, then licks it clean.  “It doesn’t feel right to me, taking money from the people who keep our show on the air.  I don’t like it, so I donate it.”

Castiel smiles.  He didn’t know about that, but he’s not at all surprised because this is exactly who Dean is. 

“Anyway, it’s not so bad this time.” Dean moves the cronuts to the table by the bed.  “I’m not sure why. It feels different. Easier.  I think my head’s just in a different place.” He crawls over Castiel, still under the cover, and hovers on hands and knees above him.  “And Jared wants to meet you.”

“He knows about me?”

“I told him about you.”

“Did you tell him _all_ about me?”

“I wasn’t myself when I left Rocket Beach and started back to work.  He noticed.” Dean nudges Castiel’s neck with his nose, lays several chaste kisses there. “We went out after some stupid press thing, had a few drinks, and I told him all about you. And the thing is, it felt good to tell him.  Plus he was cool about the whole thing.  It didn’t faze him at all.” 

“Well maybe I can meet him today?”

“You’re coming back today?”

“Of course I am.  I wouldn’t miss your solo panel.”

“Good.”  Dean’s lips move up Castiel’s neck and onto his ear.  “We still have a little time before I have to go. So we’re already in bed, naked, with coffee and cronuts.  Any ideas on how we can make this morning any more perfect?”

Dean relaxes on top of him.  Castiel revels in the weight of Dean’s body resting on his, the feel of Dean’s bare skin against his own, the bristle of the cool sheet draped over them both.  He can’t imagine how he ever lived without this, how he ever possibly could.

He lightly kisses Dean’s freckled nose. “New York Times crossword puzzle?”

“It’s like you’re reading my mind, Cas.”

______________________________

 

Even though he is no longer hiding, Castiel takes a seat in the very back of the room.  Dean takes the stage, once again to a round of applause, whistles, and a few catcalls. 

There is no question that Dean is a handsome man, a very handsome man.  Castiel doubts that there is anyone who would disagree.  Yet Castiel has never seen him look as beautiful as he does today, his eyes clear and bright, his smile brilliant, life-changing.

It takes a mere hand gesture from Dean to control the crowd.  The applause eases and they all sit back down.  Dean welcomes them, says a few nice things about New York City, holds everyone captive with a carefully abridged retelling of his first cronut experience.

When he takes questions, he perches on the seat of a stool, crosses his feet at the ankles.  He answers a series of questions about his character and the show, offers a few spoilers regarding the new season.  It could not be more evident to Castiel that the people in this room love him.

“I just want to say thank you.”  The woman at the microphone is nervous, her voice shaky. “For being such an amazing role model. I mean, you share so much of your life with us, when you really don’t have to.”

“Nah.”  Dean shakes his head.  “That’s not true.”

“It is.  And since your whole relationship with Lisa, how sad you’ve been since all of that happened, I think I speak for everyone here when I say it’s super great to see you happy again.”

Dean’s head falls to his chest while the room echoes with clapping and soft cheers.  

“No, I haven’t been a good role model.” Dean waits for the room to quiet, speaks into the microphone he holds tightly in his hand. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. But right now, I think that one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made was thinking that you guys, you wonderful people who support this show, who support me unconditionally, don’t actually care about me as an individual.”

“We love you." A booming voice proclaims loudly from somewhere in the back of the room, and that declaration is followed by more of the same.

Dean walks over to the end of the stage, then sits down on the edge of it, his feet dangling below him.  “I believe you,” he says.  “And I think I owe each and every one of you who came here to see me, a little bit of truth.”

Castiel stills in his seat, excited and afraid of what Dean will say next.

“I _have_ been sad,” he begins.  “I met someone, fell in love, and then it ended. So yeah, I was pretty damn sad about that.” 

The room remains quiet, listening.

“But it wasn’t Lisa.  My romance with Lisa was never real.  It was manufactured for headlines, for publicity. And I went along with it willingly, so I apologize to all of you about that.  I’m sorry for deceiving you that way.”

Murmur sounds begin, and Dean continues, speaking over them.  “I met someone in Florida.  Someone who wasn’t impressed by my name.  Someone who helped me accept who I am.  Someone I fell very deeply in love with.”

“The friend with the turtles?” the woman still standing at the corner microphone asks, and Dean smiles and nods. 

“Like I said, it ended quite abruptly, and to be honest, painfully.  But it seems we’ve worked things out.”  Dean smiles, pauses, bites his lower lip.  “And he’s here today.”

It takes the audience a few moments to appreciate what Dean has said, but soon Castiel sees the camera flashes steadily increase, the room begin to hum.

Dean bounces off of the stage.  “I said _he’s_ here today.”  He repeats himself, places emphasis on the masculine pronoun.  “Cas told me that he doesn’t need any kind of grand romantic gesture from me.  And I believe him, because that’s the kind of person he is.  Humble and all.” 

Dean walks through the aisle between seats and towards Castiel and Castiel’s heart rate surges, the fast, steady thump of it the only sound he can hear.  That, and Dean’s calm, assuring voice.

“But I’m not so humble, and I think a grand romantic gesture may be just what _I_ need.” Dean stops in front of Castiel, holds out his free hand.  Castiel takes it and rises to his feet.

“Dean,” is all Castiel manages to get past his dry throat and mouth before Dean pulls him into his arms, presses their lips together and kisses him.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you couldn't tell, I heart New York with a passion.


	30. And you can tell everybody this is your song

The trip to the airport is quiet, and Castiel finds that he is more contemplative than apprehensive about what he is not quite prepared to face.  He sits beside Dean in the back of the limo.  Sam sits across from them, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery on the other side of the window, while the bodyguard, on loan at Jared’s insistence, keeps the driver company up front.

“I wish I could just go with you now, Cas.” Dean mumbles, his hand over his mouth as he speaks.

Castiel squeezes his hand.  “I know. I do too.”

“I’ve gotta go to Los Angeles first, sort some things out. Then I promise I’ll come find you.”

Dean and Sam have a later flight, to the West Coast, but they go to the airport together as a team, united against the impending media storm.  “All right,” Castiel says.

Dean grins.  The impish, slightly open-mouthed one that almost always precedes some self-deprecating humor.  “Besides, you really don’t want to be on a plane with me.  I’d be holding onto you the entire time, with my eyes shut.”

“I don’t think I’d mind that at all.”

“That might change when the vomiting and crying kicks in.”

Castiel slants his head toward Dean. “Are you afraid of flying?”

“Terrified.”  Sam pipes in without turning away from the window.

Dean nods agreement.  “I drive when I can.  Which is less and less often, these days.”

“I didn’t know that, Dean.  You said you wanted to go to Europe.” 

“And now you know why I haven’t been already. But I figure you can help me work through that fear too.”

Castiel smiles.  “Gladly.” 

Dean rests his head on Castiel’s shoulder, and they stay that way, quiet again, until they arrive at their destination.

______________________________

 

“As soon as we walk through those doors, there are probably going to be photographers.  Are you ready?”

Dean instructs Castiel with his hand still on the open limo door, waits for Castiel to answer him.

“I’m not sure,” Castiel says.  “How does my hair look.”

“Like you just got out of bed.”  Dean pushes his fingers through Castiel’s hair, dishevels it.  “And you weren’t in there alone.”

“Perfect.  Exactly what I was going for.  I’m ready.”

Sam snickers at that, and Castiel swings his duffle bag over his shoulder while Dean extends the handle on his rolling carry-on bag.

“Sam?”  Dean asks, and Sam nods at him, then the bodyguard.

“We’ll be right behind you guys,” Sam assures.

They move purposefully and swiftly to the building.   As soon as they get past the glass doors and inside, they’re met with a wall of photographers and reporters.   Word of Dean’s disclosure to the fans at the convention only a few hours earlier has spread quickly.  Castiel stops, freezes, his eyes wide and unblinking.   

Dean lays his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and leans into him, puts his mouth to his ear.  “I’m right here.”  His hand slides down Castiel’s arm and catches Castiel’s hand, entwines their fingers. “You’ve got this,” he says, and Castiel feels immediate relief.

They move again, Dean and Castiel in front with Sam and the bodyguard behind them.  Castiel tries not to make eye contact with any of them.  He ignores the shout-outs and camera flashes, focuses instead on Dean’s hand in his, leading the way, guiding him through and away from the media mob.  Keeping him safe.

Sam and the bodyguard, along with airport security, prevent the crowd from following them, and although Dean pauses momentarily a few times in the terminal to take photos here and there with fans, they arrive at Castiel’s gate alone and just in time for boarding.

“Where are you going now?”  Castiel is not ready to leave Dean, not ready to let go of the hand in his.  He thinks that he may never be.

“There’s a room I can hang out in until my flight leaves.  Free liquor.“ Dean mimes drinking with his free hand.  “It’s easier for everyone if I start my trip at the bar before the plane ever leaves the ground.”

“I love you Dean.”

“Yeah.”  Dean grins, and it’s the lopsided, adorable, winsome one. “How great is that, Cas?”

Castiel releases Dean’s hand.  “Now go get drunk.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly…I'm very very sorry that the final chapter (or three) took so long! I missed all of my self-imposed deadlines. Thank you to all of you that have stuck with it and have waited so patiently for this resolution. 
> 
> Thanks also for the support and encouragement along the way because it matters so much. Unless you cannot abide what is basically a Misha Collins love fest, please feel free to say hello on tumblr (same URL).


	31. You know I believe and how

Castiel believes many things but believes in very few. He believes in human and animal rights. He believes in the Golden Rule. He believes in the existence of something greater than mankind, and now, finally, after thirty years of his own existence, he believes in love.

He hasn’t seen Dean in almost two weeks and he misses him, but it’s different now.  There is no longer any uncertainty about what or who they are.  There are no more secrets.  He loves Dean and Dean loves him, and thanks to television and social media, everyone knows it to be so, whether they like it or not.

For the first time since he got back from New York, Castiel left the Café before closing time and plans to do nothing but laze around the bungalow, maybe read a book.  The Café is even busier than before, and since people now come not only hoping to run into Dean Winchester but also to get a glimpse of the man Dean Winchester loves, Castiel stays mostly in the back, cooking and making muffins, while Gabriel takes full advantage of the fact that they are now a quasi tourist attraction by selling T-shirts and hats and anything else Café-related that people are willing to pay for.

There’s a knock on the door, two quick, sharp raps followed by a “Hey bro.”  Castiel lets him in, and although Gabriel is always welcome, he has brought the food Castiel left in the kitchen when he slid out of the back door of the restaurant, making him even more welcome than usual.

“Thank you, Gabe. I’m hungry.” Castiel snags the box from Gabriel’s hand, grabs a fork from the drawer by the sink and sits at the counter.  He stabs at the salad inside the box.  “Who’s at the Café now?”

Gabriel settles on the stool next to him. “There’s a lull.  Rufus and Bobby are closing up with Rachel and Jo.  That is until Sam gets there.  Then Jo is gone.”

Castiel drops his fork back into the box. “Sam’s coming into town tonight?”

“According to Jo.”  Gabriel shrugs.  “Pretty sure that’s what she said.”

Castiel cleans his hands with a paper napkin. “What exactly did she say?”

“I don’t remember.  All I heard was blah, blah, blah, Sam.  Blah, blah, tonight.  Between you and me, I’m not always a-listening when our little Jo is a-talking.”

Castiel’s not sure what to make of this. He speaks to Dean twice a day, spoke to Sam yesterday, and neither of them mentioned coming to Rocket Beach. Gabriel must have gotten it wrong. “So you left Rufus and Bobby in charge?  Alone? That’s some kind of seal of approval.”

“Yeah.  I trust them.”  Gabriel pulls a face, waves one hand dismissively.  “What could possibly go wrong, right?  Bobby’s fully armed, and Rufus, well, he’s Rufus.”

“That reminds me.” Castiel pushes away the rest of his salad before he continues.  “I have to talk to Bobby.  They had these doughnut things in New York that Dean likes, and I was hoping Bobby could make them next time Dean visits.”

“I’m sure he can.   Old man’s a regular Pepperidge Farm. And speaking of Dean-o, when _is_ he coming back? To be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to come back from New York so empty-handed.”

“I told you, he had to go to L.A. and take care of some things, then to the set in Vancouver.  That’s where he is now, but he’ll be back as soon as he can.”

“Everything’s still good then?”

“Better than good.”

“You’re telling me.” Gabriel nods.  “Now that everything’s out, and that pun was absolutely intended - no more secrets, am I right baby brother?”

“Yes, you are,” Castiel agrees.

“Anyway, since that sweet little mug of yours has been all over the internet and newsstands, our retail is selling like crazy. I just ordered more shirts that say Rogue Wave Café and Drinkery."

“Wait, did you say ‘and Drinkery?’”

“I did.”

“Does that mean we got the full liquor license?”

“Yes we did baby bro.  Thanks to the Alliance for Growth and Economic Development.”

“Rufus and Bobby.”

"And also thanks to the money you came up with from the mysterious Boca Boys.  Kind of strange how they suddenly one-eightied on investing, dontcha think?  But we’re breaking ground on the renovation in two weeks and it looks like we’re living the life, little brother.”

Maybe there is _one_ more secret. Castiel looks away from Gabriel. “I suppose so.”

“Which _also_ reminds me, Pamela Barnes came by with this.”  Gabriel pulls an unmarked envelope from his back pocket. “She said to make sure you got this.”

Make that _two_ more secrets.

Pamela has been trying to contact Castiel for a week now, but he hasn’t returned her calls.  He doesn’t want to talk about the house, doesn’t want to know anything about the sale of it, doesn’t want to meet the new owner, which is what her last message seemed to imply. 

“Oh.”  Castiel watched Gabriel tap the envelope against the counter.  “Do you know what this is?”

“She wouldn’t tell me.  Said there was a realtor-client privilege or something.”

“That’s not a real thing.”  Castiel sighs.  “Gabe, I need to tell you something.  I lied about the money.  It’s not from any investors--”

“No shit, Cas.”  Gabriel interrupts him.  “First of all, do I look like an idiot?”

Castiel opens his mouth to answer but Gabriel holds up his hand.

“Don’t answer that.  What I mean is, you should never ever play poker, baby brother. You’re just not a good liar.”

“I know.”

Gabriel twists his mouth downward. “And Bobby saw a truck at Hester’s house today.”

“Damn. Already?”  Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, rubs his forehead with the palm of his hand. 

“What the fuck did you do?”  Gabriel says softly.  “Tell me you didn’t sell the house?”

Castiel opens his eyes.  “I did.”

“To pay for the expansion,” Gabriel states. “Because there are no Boca Boys.” It’s not a question, but Castiel nods.

Gabriel pulls the stool out and sits down beside Castiel.  “You shouldn’t have done that.  You should’ve come to me first.”

“So you could stop me?  No.” 

“You should have come to me first because I’m your brother. We could’ve figured something out.”  Gabriel throws his arm over Castiel’s shoulder.  “But Hester’s house?  You love it there. The river.  The tree. _Your_ tree.  It’s what you’ve always wanted.  Hester wanted you there.”

Castiel pinches his lips together.  “Don’t you think I know that?”

“You sold your dream, Cas.”  Gabriel speaks lowly, his tone more compassionate than his words.  “What the hell were you thinking?” 

Castiel faces Gabriel, straightens his back. It had been a difficult decision to make, one of the hardest he’s ever made, but he stands by it. He would make the same decision again, if he had to, under the same circumstances, and he is sure that Hester would have understood. 

“I was thinking that I wanted _your_ dream more.”

“Shit, Cas.  Shut the hell up. ” Gabriel roughly swipes at his eyes with balled fists.  “I don’t cry, man. Now look what you did. You turned me into a damn Kardashian.”

Castiel squeezes his brother’s arm. “Everything will be fine, Gabe. It’s all going to work out. You’re the one who told me that _things_ don’t matter, and you were right.  We have more than just things now.  We have a family.  An amazing, extended family.”

“Yeah, we do.”  Gabriel nods, slaps Castiel softly on the back. “You’re a good human being brother. Mom would be really proud of you.”

Castiel drops his head.  “Thank you, Gabe.”

“Now suck it up like a big boy and call Pamela Barnes.”

 ______________________________

 

Castiel sucks it up like a big boy and calls Pamela Barnes.

“Well if it isn’t our own Mr. Sexypants, deigning me with a phone call,” she says, and Castiel rolls his eyes.  “I’ve never felt so unwanted in my life. And after I took care of all your cloak and dagger real estate needs so efficiently.”

“I’m sorry, Pamela.  I do appreciate all the help.  Paying off the mortgage with Michael’s company and handling all the paperwork, it made it all easier for me.”

“I always aim to please Baby Blues.  But really, it was no problem, Cas. That’s what powers of attorney are for.  And it’s not like I didn’t make a nice little commission.  But this guy who bought the property, he wants to--”

“Meet me, yes, I got your message.”

“Okay, so when can you do that?  And it has to be tomorrow morning because he leaves town tomorrow night.”

“I’m not going to do that.  I can’t even drive by the house.  It’s too hard right now.  Maybe some day, but not yet.  What’s his name, anyway?”

“I can’t tell you.  It’s realtor-client privilege.”

“That’s not a real thing.”

“Okay then, confidentiality.  I made him a promise, just like I made you a promise. I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Then tell him I said no thank you.”

Initially, Pamela doesn’t reply, and it’s not until Castiel says “goodbye,” that she mutters words that he can barely make out.

“He says he knows you.”  It’s a reluctant disclosure, and Castiel doesn’t discern her meaning.

“What?”

“He knows you, and I probably shouldn’t have told you that, but I think you might regret not meeting him now.  So please, just think about it.”

He _knows_ him? Someone Castiel _knows_ has bought Hester’s house?  “I’ll get back with you,” Castiel says quickly, and ends the call.

 ______________________________

 

It’s Dean.  It has to be Dean, because the buyer paid cash, and Castiel does not know anyone else with that kind of money.  Except for Michael, and he's certain that Pamela would not sell the house to Michael, knowing what she knows about him.  So that leaves only Dean.

Yet, why would Dean not say anything? They weren’t together when the house sold.  Was Dean going to come live here, in Rocket Beach, despite their breakup? Or was he just going to give Castiel the house as a gift?  Knowing Dean, it is more likely the latter than the former, but Dean should know Castiel well enough to know that he would never accept such a gift from him. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t said anything.

Dean _has_ been a bit cagey of late, evasive when questioned about when he’ll be returning to Rocket Beach.  Castiel hadn’t really read much into it, but now, he wonders if he plans to somehow surprise Castiel with this meeting at Pamela’s office.  Maybe that's why Sam is in town.  They could be here together.  Neither Sam nor Jo is very good with secrets.  Maybe he should just play along.

It has to be Dean, and he’s not quite sure how he feels about that.

He calls Pamela back and tells her he will meet the buyer of Hester’s house.

______________________________

 

“What are you wearing?” 

The nightly call from Dean comes only minutes after his second call to Pamela.  Castiel smirks into the phone.  “Who is this?”

“Who else do you have phone sex with?”

“No one.  Including you.” 

“Aww, come on, Cas.”  Dean feigns begging from the other end of the line.

“Do people even do that anymore?”  Castiel sprawls out on the couch, relaxed already by the sound of Dean’s voice.  “I mean, other than as a career choice.”

“This is how you make long-distance relationships work. Besides, you’re very good at it.”

“How would you know if I’m good at it?  We’ve never done it.  And you’re coming here soon, aren’t you?  I assure you, the real thing is much better.”

“I know you’ll be good at it because your mouth is magic.” Dean banters back.  “You know, the way you talk, with the words and all.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“See what I mean?  And since I film in Canada, even when I’m there, I won’t always be there.  So humor me.”

“Fine.”  Castiel sighs heavily, pretends to be put out by Dean’s request. “I’m wearing sweatpants and…” he looks down at himself to see exactly what it is he _is_ wearing.  “It looks like a Hootie and the Blowfish T-shirt.”

“Hootie and the Blowfish?  Seriously?  Is there something you’re not telling me Cas?”  Dean quips.  “Like you just took a ride from a stranger in a DeLorean?"

“It’s almost twenty years old.” Castiel’s explanation is a little more defensive than is called for.  “I was a weird kid, I’m told. Their music spoke to me.”

“Okay.  But not sexy, dude.”

“Then I’m wearing sweatpants and a Metallica T-shirt,” Castiel amends.

“Better, but I don’t think you’re getting the gist of this phone sex thing.”

“Dean, is there anything you want to tell me?” Castiel offers Dean an opening. To tell him about the house. To tell him that Sam is in town.

“Just this.  _I Only Wanna Be with You_ , Cas”

“Very funny Dean.”

“Hey Cas, will you _Hold My Hand_ ,” Dean chuckles, amused with himself, as usual.

“Hilarious.  For a Hootie hater, you seem quite familiar with their work.”

“Can we get back to business now?”  Dean whines.  “Let’s say I’m up for a role as a phone sex operator and I have to prepare for my audition? I need your help here, Cas.  There’s no one else I can turn to.”

“All right.”  If nothing else, Dean's persistence is entertaining.  “Mr. sex trade worker, do you accept Discover card?”

“This really isn’t going to happen, is it?”

“Perceptive, Dean.”

“Will you sext me?”

“Of course,” Castiel hums into the phone. “While I’m in bed.”

“Awesome.  Love you, Cas.”

“I love you too.”  Castiel grimaces.  Dean is ready to end the call and he has given Castiel no information, nothing to work with. “Is that…everything?” 

“Uh, yes?  Unless you’ve changed your mind about the phone sex?”

“No.  Never mind. When will I see you again?”

“I’ll have to let you know, Cas,” Dean says. “I’ve got a lot of balls up in the air here.”

 ______________________________

 

Balls up in the air my ass, Castiel thinks.

It’s getting late, and it’s dark outside, but after his call with Dean, he’s restless, itchy.  He doesn’t think he can wait for tomorrow’s meeting to confront Dean. He's not sure if he wants to kill him or kiss him for buying the house, but whichever one it ends up being, he wants to do it now. 

Castiel digs up his running shoes from beneath a pile of dirty clothes and laces them up quickly.  His plan was to go to the Café, then the beach, but he finds himself running past Hester’s house instead.  None of the lights are on, inside or out. It looks hushed and undisturbed, and even though it is apparent that no one lives there yet, there is a box truck parked in the long driveway that bears a California tag, and that last scrap of doubt Castiel had about who bought the house disappears.

He runs to the Café.  It’s closed now, of course, but the patio lights are still on. As he approaches from the street he hears laughter, music, loud talking.  Rufus.  Bobby. He reaches for the gate but halts when he catches a glimpse of Sam Winchester sitting at a table with them, eating.  Gabriel wasn’t mistaken.

“Sam?”

All three men look at Castiel when he says the name. Sam puts his sandwich down and stands, gestures to Bobby and Rufus to stay put while he meets Castiel.

“Hey, Cas,” he says casually, then tucks his hands in his pocket and looks around him.

Castiel frowns.  “Where is he?”

“Who?”  Sam squints, bends forward toward Castiel.  “Is that Hootie and the Blowfish on your shirt?”

Castiel closes his eyes, tries to gather patience. “Where is he?” he demands.

“I think, maybe it would be better if, uh, you know, I kept my mouth shut for once.  You should just call him.”

“Where is he, Sam?”  Castiel insists because he knows he can break Sam.

“Don’t be upset.  It’s nothing bad, Cas.  I promise you.” 

“I know.” Castiel's been contemplating possible scenarios. Will Dean present him with a house key?  Or the deed itself? Dean does enjoy making grand gestures, Castiel knows that now, but why meet at Pamela’s real estate office? Castiel hasn’t worked it all out yet, and although he’s tempted to stay and ply more information from Sam, he’s more anxious to find Dean.

Sam rolls his head, as if deciding what to say before he spills.  “He’s at the beach right now.”

Castiel huffs an acknowledgment, then points at Sam as he backs away.  “Don’t you dare call him,” he orders.

Sam nods once.  “Okay, then.  I promise I won’t call him.”  He calls out after him, but Castiel is already down the road and sprinting toward the beach.

 _______________________________

 

There he is.  Dean.  Sitting alone on the lower steps of the staircase, looking out at the ocean, and Castiel can’t help but think about how much has happened at this beach. 

“What are you doing here?”  Castiel asks from behind him at the top of the steps, still breathless from running.  He’s excited, nervous, a bit uneasy, but not at all angry.  He thinks he should probably be a little angry.

Dean turns around and looks up, grins when he sees him, as if he is expecting him. “Wow, Cas, you really _are_ wearing a Hootie shirt.”

“Did Sam call you?”

“No.  He texted me.”

Of course.  Lawyer.  Loophole. “Why did you lie to me Dean?” And even though the words are accusatory, it doesn’t come out that way.

Dean stands, steps onto the sand.  “I didn’t lie to you, Cas.  Actually, you lied to me.  You promised you were going to sext me.” He holds his phone up. “Yet nothing.”

“I said I’d do it when I went to bed. Clearly I am not in bed.”

“Well then, maybe we should fix that right now.”

Castiel leaps down the stairs, two at a time. He can’t wait to get to Dean. “No, don’t you do that. Don’t distract me with offers of sex.  I know about it, Dean. I know why you’re here.”

Dean rolls his head back and groans “Sam.” His shoulders droop in defeat. “Damn it. I should have known. Sam can’t keep his damn trap shut.”

“No, it wasn’t Sam.  Pamela called about meeting tomorrow, but I couldn’t wait for that so I ran by the house and saw the moving truck, and then--”

“What are you talking about?”  Dean's face twists in confusion.  “I thought you said you knew why I was here?”

“I know you bought the house.”

“What house?”

“Hester’s house.”

“How could I buy...? Wait. Cas, did you put Hester’s house up for sale?”

“Yes.”  Castiel narrows his eyes.  “And you bought it.”

“What?  I didn’t even know you were selling it.  Why would you sell it?”

Castiel exhales loudly, with as much exaggerated annoyance as he can manage.  “Dean, I know you bought it and you were planning to surprise me tomorrow.”

Dean’s face goes blank for several long seconds. “No, Cas,” he finally says. He rubs his hand across his hairline. “Fuck, no, I didn’t. I wish I had.  Jesus, I wish I had.  I didn’t even know you were selling it.”

Castiel pushes his brows together.  Nothing is making any sense, and he feels his knees begin to weaken. “Then why are you here?  Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”  He absently shakes his head as his mind tries to sort through the evidence.  “I don’t understand,” he says slowly, then asks again.  “Dean, why are you here?”

Dean opens and closes his mouth a few times. “I, uhm, was going to surprise you, that’s all,” he mumbles.  “Nothing else.  I was gonna come over, and I was gonna be all ‘hey Cas, it’s me.  Surprise!’  Great, huh?”

It takes a moment to sink in, but when it does, he crumples onto the sand, grabs his hair with both hands and tugs. Dean is in front of him in an instant, hunkered down and hovering over him, his hand on his back, massaging him while he concentrates on breathing – in and out and in again.

“I’m sorry, Cas.  I’m so sorry about the house,” Dean says into his ear. “I would have bought it, if I had known. Fuck, I’d do anything for you, Cas.  You know that, right?”

“Why are you here, Dean?” he asks again, his voice breaking. “Please just tell me, because I can’t take any more lies.”

Dean shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out his closed fist.  He holds it out to Castiel and opens his hand.

It’s a ring.  A thick silver band, brightly polished so the tiny dot design around the middle stands out.  It’s simple, it’s modest, and Castiel thinks it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

When Castiel looks up and into Dean’s eyes, ardent and glistening, the suffocating tightness in his chest subsides, the disappointment in his bones washes away and is replaced by an all-encompassing warmth. He shivers once or twice, lets it settle on his skin while Dean continues to pet him, and Castiel discovers one more thing he believes in.  He believes in Dean Winchester.

“I was here to, you know, propose.  I wasn’t sure how to do it, I mean, how do guys do this?  But I was pretty sure you wouldn’t want a diamond ring or anything like that, so Sam said to give you something I already had.  That you would like that even more.”

“Dean…”

“I know.  My timing sucks with the house and all, but I swear I didn’t know anything about that.  I was just sitting here, trying to figure out something really profound to say.”

“What did you come up with?”

“Well so far I’ve got Hey Cas, will you marry me?”

Castiel’s throat burns all the way down, like he's swallowed too hot soup, but he manages to strangle out the words “all right.”

“Yes?” 

“Yes.  Yes, Dean.  Yes.”

“Thank you,” Dean says, and that makes Castiel laugh.

“What?  It seems like the polite thing to say.  I mean, you just agreed to spend the rest of your life with me. I should be grateful, don’t you think?”

Castiel cannot argue with Dean’s logic.

“And don’t worry about the house. It doesn’t matter where we live. I’ll buy you another house, hell, I’ll build you one.  Or we can always just live in the bungalow forever because that’s fine with me.”

“That’s fine with me too,” Castiel says, then pushes Dean back onto the sand and kisses him with the gratitude of a man who’s just been given his happily ever.

 ______________________________

 

Castiel and Dean arrive at Pamela Barnes’ office promptly at ten, as her message directed.  She meets them at the door.

“He’s already here,” she informs them, gestures for them to follow her inside and down the hall.

“Who is he?”  Castiel asks one last time, and he feels a bit like a broken record, but he’s never been good with surprises.

“I’ll let him tell you.  I did have him checked out, though, and he’s the real deal, Castiel.  I mean, I could tell by just looking at him, but, well, you’ll see what I mean.”

She opens the door to the meeting room where a middle-aged man sits alone at the long, oval conference table, his hands locked together on top of it.  He looks up at Castiel, offers a shaky smile.

“Holy shit,” Dean says, but Castiel can do nothing more than stare at him, slack-jawed, because even though he has never seen him before, he knows.  He knows exactly who this man is.

“Castiel.”  The man ponders the name rather than says it as he stands and moves around the table toward him.  “I like it. I like it very much. An angel name, I presume?” He’s nervous, maybe even more nervous than Castiel, but unlike Castiel, who is stricken into silence, this man at least has the presence of mind to extend his hand in greeting.

“We’ve never met, and I truly regret that,” he says, and Castiel has no doubt that he means it.  “My name is Carver Edlund, and it has only recently been brought to my attention that you are my son.”

 ______________________________

 

When they met in Orlando and Michael slid a manila envelope across the table to him, he revealed to Castiel that he looked just like his father.  He was right. Castiel never opened that envelope, never saw the photos, the DNA results; told himself he had no interest in the information inside.  He was wrong.

“You have her eyes,” Carver Edlund – Castiel’s _father_ – tells him. “Your mother never told me, Castiel.  I wish she would have told me.”

Castiel believes him, mostly because he wants to.  “How did you meet her?”

“I met her when I lived in Washington D.C. I was twenty-four, she was a little older, I think.  At a bar on Dupont Circle.”

Castiel has a thousand questions he wants to ask, all of them about his mother.  “What bar?” he asks instead.

“Sign of the Whale,” Carver Edlund responds, then chuckles under his breath. “I believe it’s still there.”

It’s nice that he remembers.  It unexpectedly means a lot to Castiel.

Dean has left the room to offer them privacy, but Castiel could really use a hand to hold right now, a leg to squeeze under the table for support.  “He’s my boyfriend,” Castiel blurts out, in answer to a question that was never asked. “My fiancé actually. As of last night.”

“Congratulations,” Carver Edlund says earnestly, without hesitation or condescension, then rests his elbows on his thighs and leans forward in his chair.  “I knew very little about Anna.  That was her preference.  She was mysterious in many ways.  When I purchased the house, when my realtor _insisted_ , out of the blue mind you, that I invest in this beautiful property in some unnamed, small town in Florida, I had no idea that there was any connection to your mother.  And then I saw a photo of you on my computer, and of course, along with your name, it clicked. I can’t help but believe that something more than chance is at work here.”

Castiel nods.  “Perhaps.”

“I’d like to get to know you, Castiel. I hope you will allow me that.”

“All right,” Castiel says simply, then excuses himself to use the restroom.  He needs the break to gather himself, to take it all in.  When he returns, Dean sits comfortably in his place, chatting away with his newly found father, both of them laughing.  It reminds him of when Dean first met Hester.

“Hey Cas,” Dean waves Castiel into the room when he sees him in the doorway.  Dean can hardly contain his excitement.  “Guess what?”

“What, Dean?”

Dean smiles smugly.  “I just bought us a house.”


	32. It’s more the way that you mean it when you tell me what will be

Castiel scoots closer to Dean from behind him, folds his arms around him, then props his chin on Dean’s shoulder.  They’re both quiet, watching the bustling scene playing out beneath them from the tree limb their legs are wrapped around.

“Look, I think Benny is making a move on Pamela.” Dean points to the middle of the yard where Benny lies flat on his back in the grass, stroking Pamela’s arm while she sits upright next to him.

“I’m glad you invited him,” Castiel says. “He’s a much better friend than manager.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees.  “Thanks for being cool about that.”  They watch Gabriel and Rachel set the table while Jo and Sam sit at the edge of the pool, splashing each other with their feet.  Rufus and Bobby fish in the river off the end of the dock, arguing about the perfect bait.

“I have to go to L.A. next week.  Can you come with and we’ll go visit Daddy?”

“Of course,” Castiel laughs.  Dean took a liking to Carver Edlund, who lives in California and has a family of his own.  Castiel thinks it has something to do with Carver’s willingness to give up the property for the son he just met as soon as Dean explained the circumstances to him.

“Dinner in ten, people!”  Gabriel yells out.  He’s right at home, flipping burgers on the grill in the outdoor kitchen.  The Café has been closed for nearly a month now due to construction, but Gabriel cooks for them whenever he can, trying out new recipes as they revamp the food offerings and create a bar menu.

“This table is going to be a problem.” Dean twists his head toward Castiel.  “What happens when Sam and Jo start having kids?”

“It will be fine.  We’ll just pull up a few extra chairs.”

Dean bites his lip.  “Okay, that makes sense, but what if, God forbid, Benny and Pamela hit it off, and then they spawn or hatch a few rugrats?  Where will we put them?”

Castiel shrugs.  “We get a bench?  You can fit more people on a bench.” 

“Sure, sure. I guess we could do that, but what if the bench is full?  What if there's no room for, say, baby Hester?”

“Baby Hester?”  They have never spoken about children before, but Castiel does think about them.  And now he knows that Dean does too. “We’ll squeeze her in next to her brother, Dean junior.”

“Dean junior, eh?”  Dean purses his lips, then nods.  “Yeah, this table situation is a pretty big problem Cas. What do you think?”

He smiles against Dean’s shoulder, closes his eyes, then rests his head there for a few moments.  Neither one moves, and in the stillness Castiel hears the rustle of wind-blown leaves around them, the laughter from their family below them, the soothing tempo of Dean’s steadily beating heart in front of him. 

“I think you and I should get a bigger table, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a list of the songs from which each chapter title was taken.
> 
> 1\. I’m Just a Singer (in a Rock and Roll Band) – Moody Blues  
> 2\. Head Over Heels – Tears for Fears  
> 3\. More than a Feeling – Boston  
> 4\. Speed of Sound – Coldplay  
> 5\. Magic – America  
> 6\. Fool in the Rain – Led Zeppelin  
> 7\. Bohemian Rhapsody – Queen  
> 8\. Iris – Goo-Goo Dolls  
> 9\. From Yesterday – 30 Seconds to Mars  
> 10\. Wonderwall – Oasis  
> 11\. Dancing in the Dark – Bruce Springsteen  
> 12\. Busted – Matchbox Twenty  
> 13\. I’ve Seen All Good People – Yes  
> 14\. Wish You Were Here – Incubus  
> 15\. When the Levee Breaks – Led Zeppelin  
> 16\. Take the Long Way Home – Supertramp  
> 17\. Miracles – Jefferson Starship  
> 18\. Hanging by a Moment – Lifehouse  
> 19\. Collide – Howie Day  
> 20\. You and Me – Lifehouse  
> 21\. Maybe I’m Amazed – Paul McCartney and Wings  
> 22\. Like a Stone – Audioslave  
> 23\. Don’t Stop Believin’ – Journey  
> 24\. Carry on my Wayward Son – Kansas  
> 25\. Say Something – A Great Big World  
> 26\. Separate Ways – Journey  
> 27\. Home – Phillip Phillips  
> 28\. Simple man – Lynrd Skynrd  
> 29\. Our House – Crosby, Still & Nash  
> 30\. Your Song – Elton John  
> 31\. Something – The Beatles  
> 32\. Question – Moody Blues


End file.
